


Captain’s Log: I am Sly as a Fox

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Comes Back, Derek Hale Returns to Beacon Hills, Emotionally Hurt Derek Hale, Fox Stiles Stilinski, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt Stiles, Injured Stiles, Lonely Derek Hale, M/M, Magic mishap, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Pining, Spells & Enchantments, Stiles Comes Back, Stiles Stilinski Returns to Beacon Hills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-02 10:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16303505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: Derek wandered into the store with him, some of the cashiers cooing at Stiles because, yes, yes, he was very cute, thank you. He was getting more attention as a fox than he’d ever gotten as a human.Figures.He just pouted while being carried through the store, one of the girls helping Derek with what he needed and bringing it all to the cash register for him since he seemed reluctant to loosen his grip on Stiles. He probably didn’t want him wiggling free and wreaking havoc across the store.Hewaspretty destructive, he’d admit that.





	Captain’s Log: I am Sly as a Fox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Faladrast (surfgirl1)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surfgirl1/gifts).



> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis
> 
> Faladrast, thanks for being awesome <3 You said you liked foxes so hopefully you enjoy!

A rather loud, slightly embarrassing scream tore itself from his throat as he legitimately sailed through the air across the clearing. It wasn’t an exaggeration, he was literally airborne for like, thirty seconds, at least.

Landing hard on his back, all the air rushed out of his lungs and he found it hard to replenish his oxygen supply, struggling to inhale while rolling onto his side with a loud groan.

“Yup. That hurt. That was unpleasant,” he muttered, struggling to get back to his feet and looking around for his bat.

He was gonna be pissed if his bat was broken, that thing had survived the Alpha Pack _and_  a Darach.

“Stiles!” Hands grabbed him by the armpits and yanked hard, sliding him back from the spot he’d just been in.

Which was now a smoking crater in the ground.

Well. That wouldn’t have been pleasant. He much preferred _not_  being blasted to pieces. He was more of an open casket kind of guy.

Stiles Stilinski allowed the man behind him to haul him to his feet. He was then shoved backwards with one hand, hard, in the centre of his chest. He stumbled and almost fell over, which would’ve completely defeated the purpose of having helped him up to begin with.

Also, _ow_ , Derek! Ow! Already injured human versus Werewolf strength. Not a good mix.

“Help Lydia,” Derek Hale snarled. Well, not snarled, exactly. Yes, he was snarling, but it wasn’t directed at Stiles.

At least, he didn’t think it was.

Rubbing at his chest and hurrying for his bat, he snatched it up on his way to Lydia, stopping beside her while she flipped frantically through a book, eyes skimming all the words as quickly as she could.

“Anything?” he asked, every inch of him aching.

“If I _had_  anything,” she snapped, definitely _at_  him,“I’d have _said_  so.”

Stiles glanced back over at the rest of the pack, fangs bared and claws out while they tried to attack their newest problem of the week.

He winced in sympathy pain when Liam Dunbar was lifted clear off his feet and hurled into Malia Tate, the pair of them hitting the ground and skidding a few feet. This was so far outside their wheelhouse. They knew how to go after things they could actually _touch_ , but in this case, it wasn’t exactly a possibility.

To be fair, he acknowledged the Nogitsune that had taken him over a few years back was something they couldn’t touch, but that was why it had been so fucking destructive! Because the pack was more bam, pow, hyah. Not so much with the intellect, if he was honest.

Okay, maybe Derek.

And of _course_  Lydia Martin. Lovely redheaded Goddess currently flipping urgently through a book.

“You know what would help?” she muttered, still flipping. “Deaton _not_  being unconscious right now. That would definitely help.”

“Or, you know, a Hellhound,” Stiles insisted. “Or a sheriff. With a gun. Bullets are good.”

“Shut up.”

“Yup. Shutting up.” Stiles glanced at the fighting and then decided Derek could suck it. Flipping his bat once in his right hand, he threw himself back into the fray with a battle cry.

Probably not a great idea to announce his presence because the hooded figure rounded on him and raised one gnarled hand.

And Stiles was airborne again, crying out when he slammed into a tree and crumpled to the ground. Well, at least the unbelievably large amount of fucking _pain_  he was in meant nothing was broken.

Or nothing he could feel, anyway which, again, nothing broken.

He was still struggling to his feet when Scott McCall was at his side instantly, urgently asking if he was okay.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insisted. Fucking Werewolves.

Yes, he was human, but he wasn’t _fragile_! Except when Derek shoved at him, then he was fragile, logic be damned.

He and Scott turned back to the Witch, bat raised and claws out when she vanished in a puff of smoke, her dark, ominous laughter echoing around them in the clearing.

Because _that_  wasn’t creepy as _fuck_.

Stiles whipped around in a circle, looking for the woman and almost losing his footing. He fell into Scott, which saved him from landing on his ass again.

For a few long, tense seconds, no one moved, all of them trying to catch sight of the Witch. It became clear she’d gone and would return to fight them another time, because she didn’t re-appear.

Sighing and leaning back against the tree, Stiles winced at all the aches and pains screaming across his body.

When he looked up, he knew his head would soon follow, because Derek was storming over to him and he looked _pissed_.

Really, at this point, when _didn’t_  he?

“I told you to _help Lydia_!” he screamed in Stiles’ face.

Literally. Right in it. From two inches away.

Okay, maybe five, but close enough! Stiles could literally close the distance and plant an obnoxiously wet kiss on his lips at this range.

It was tempting, if he was honest. Wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t noticed lately how fucking stunning Derek was, even when he was mad.

Okay so Stiles had noticed a long time ago that he was stunning, but he’d locked that part of himself away where no one would ever find it. Something hard to keep in a box at the back of his mind when Derek was literally close enough for him to kiss.

“I’m not a weakling, you know,” Stiles insisted dryly. “I can handle myself. Or did the last however many years of this shit not prove that to you? You forget I was in the FBI for a time?”

“Interning,” Scott cut in.

Stiles pointed a finger at him, but kept his eyes on Derek’s scowling face. “Not the point, Scotty.”

“Stiles,” Derek grit out between clenched teeth. “I am _well_  aware of how capable you are in situations such as this, however did it maybe occur to you that I asked you to help Lydia because you are by _far_  the most experienced individual in this clearing when it comes to magic and Deaton is unavailable to help?”

Stiles opened his mouth, but no words came out, Derek raising his eyebrows. Exhaling the air in his lungs, Stiles just decided to let it drop. He hadn’t considered that, actually, but Derek was right.

He might not have been a Druid or _magic_ , per se, but he was definitely well-versed in all the abracadabra bullshit they always had going on. Realistically, he probably would’ve done better with Lydia over being tossed around like a rag doll but, well, something for past Stiles to reflect on. Future Stiles would be a good little Human and would listen to the big bad Werewolf next time.

Maybe.

Probably not.

“Deaton’s likely awake by now,” he said in response a good few seconds later. “Maybe we should go look into that.”

Derek threw his hands up in defeat, clearly annoyed that Stiles was _such_  a pain in his ass, and turned his back on him.

Whatever, wasn’t like he wasn’t used to this.

Welcome to Beacon Hills.

There was a reason he’d left.

* * *

The following morning did not treat Stiles very kindly. He ached everywhere and it took him a good few minutes to convince himself getting out of bed wasn’t the worst idea in the world. Finally, he forced himself to do so, climbing carefully to his feet and hissing. He yanked his pyjamas off in his room and tossed them onto his bed before heading out into the corridor.

He missed living with his dad, but if there was one thing he liked about living alone, it was that he could wander around naked without worrying about it. Not that he was naked, he still had his shorts on, but still!

While he’d have liked to move back in with his dad when he returned to Beacon Hills after deciding the FBI wasn’t for him, he was a bonafide adult now—twenty-four years old, thank you very much—and he thought it best to at least _try_  to act like one. So he’d rented a little apartment above a bakery on the main road near the police station. He was taking online courses for Computer Sciences and was hoping that maybe he could go back into the FBI in a more information technology kind of way. He had an in, he knew he could go back, he just—the field work wasn’t for him.

With all the shit he’d seen over the years, it broke his heart to see people wrongfully convicted for something a monster had done, and it was a lot harder to argue that with the bigwigs than it had been with his dad back before he knew about all this supernatural bullshit.

It was easier to just do the background work and help on that side. He could make a real difference on that side. And if the FBI didn’t want him, well, he was sure he could be a consultant somewhere. His resume was fairly impressive, if he did say so himself.

Walking into the bathroom, he paused when he glanced at his reflection in the mirror and winced. He had dark purple bruises along most of his torso, and when he twisted to check his back, he saw more of the same. One of them looked particularly nasty, parallel to his spine, and he let out a sigh before dropping his arms back to his sides. It made having relationships extremely hard, doing what he did.

Helping rid the world of evil monsters one day at a time. And it _was_  evil monsters. Not the good ones. The good ones could stay.

Apparently Derek had become good friends with a Wendigo a year or so back, and they kept in touch via Whatsapp. It was insane when he thought about it. Derek had _Whatsapp_? Crazy.

But the Wendigo thing was pretty crazy, too.

It was weird to realize a Wendigo could be good, but to be fair, Stiles would’ve assumed the same thing about Werewolves until he was quite literally surrounded by them. And Banshees had such a bad rap, but Lydia was fucking _awesome_!

The world was weird. The world was _so_  weird.

Sighing again, Stiles cut on the water and waited a little while for it to heat up, since it always took longer than back home given the amount of hot water the bakery downstairs used. When it finally heated up enough, he climbed under the spray and winced when the water pressure actually hurt his sore muscles and bruises. It was going to take a while for all of this to disappear, but for now, he supposed he could live. He’d just have to make sure he didn’t score in the near future.

Which was laughable, because nobody seemed interested in him. Though Derek came out to be his wingman a lot, which was cool. They’d go out somewhere and hang out, but every time Stiles tried to score with someone, and it seemed to be going well, something would shift and they would get all weird and nervous before scuttling away. He always had to return to Derek feeling like a loser. That guy got hit on all the time.

Stiles always insisted he could go off and get lucky since Stiles always struck out, but Derek said he didn’t come out to get lucky, he came out to spend time with him.

Which, really, was always an, “Aw, buddy, you _do_  love me!” moment.

Stiles really liked his relationship with Derek. He didn’t really know _what_  their relationship was, because it was more than friends but less than boyfriends. It was a weird in between thing where Stiles could get away with lying all over Derek and hugging and kissing his cheek, but he wouldn’t ever make out with him or have sex with him.

Well, no, he would, he totally would, but he also liked being alive and felt like even the hugging and draping himself all over Derek thing was really pushing his luck. Derek was more used to him now, after years of their bullshit together, but Stiles knew there was a line and he’d always skirted it. Best not to just leap over it, he’d probably die.

Not to mention there was the chemosignals thing. Fucking Werewolves and their emotion-smelling noses. Derek _had_  to know how Stiles felt, but he wouldn’t pursue it with him. Stiles liked being friends with Derek. He wanted to be more, but Derek had shown time and time again that he wasn’t interested in him in that way, and while that stung, it wasn’t like Stiles wasn’t used to this kind of thing.

He’d been in love with Lydia for years, something that had taken a long time for him to get over, but he knew it would be the same with Derek. He’d keep crushing on him for a few more years and eventually move on to someone else.

No big deal.

When he was clean and drying off, he called Scott to check in on Deaton. He’d been in really bad shape the night before, and that was when they all learned that Witches were far more powerful than Druids. Scott said that Deaton was doing okay, he was being discharged from the hospital in a few hours, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was fine. The hospital didn’t know about the supernatural world, and it made it difficult for them to ensure the injured got the proper care they needed.

Stiles didn’t know what they’d all do when his dad and Melissa retired from their respective jobs. Sure, they had Parrish at the station, but he wouldn’t be sheriff for a good few years, if ever, and it was going to make things difficult when shit hit the fan, as it so inevitably did.

He was trying to remember why he’d decided to come home in the first place.

“Right,” he said with a sigh, wincing and putting some clothes on. “Derek.”

Always Derek.

Sure, the whole FBI thing hadn’t worked out how he’d planned, but he could’ve stayed where he was and worked on his new career path without coming home. And then Derek.

He’d shown up, told Stiles about a new big bad in Beacon Hills, and had asked him rather hesitantly if he would come. Stiles had packed up and left with him. Wasn’t the first time they’d gone cross-country together, but it felt more significant this time. They were both agreeing to leave the new lives they’d built behind them, and were going back to the one place in the world they’d always wanted to escape.

Friends and family did that to people. Made them make stupid decisions.

Though Stiles had never fully understood why Derek had come back. He suspected it was because this was Hale land. This was the last piece of his family he had left, and he wanted to protect it.

Actually, with regard to the Hales, surprisingly Stiles kind of missed Peter. They’d been through a lot together, and while he was a creepy motherfucker, at least he’d been a useful ally every now and then. But he supposed for Derek’s psyche it was probably best Peter stay away.

Sighing and getting himself organized for the day, Stiles had a few hours before his first class so he’d just fallen down onto the couch to watch some TV when his phone rang. He was probably the only person who didn’t panic when Derek’s name flashed on the screen. When Derek called the rest of the pack, it was bad news. When he called Stiles, it could be anything from “A Vampire is outside your window” to “Bring me raisin bread from the bakery.”

He and Derek were weird. They’d always been weird, but they were weirder, now. Stiles didn’t mind, he quite liked the weird friendship he had with Derek.

“Yo,” he said, answering the phone and playing with the remote.

_“Hey. You don’t have class until later, right?”_

“You are correctamundo,” Stiles informed him, leaning back further in his seat and ignoring the fact that Derek had his schedule memorized. “Whyfore doth thou ask?”

_“On second thought, never mind.”_

“Asshole. What do you want?”

_“Camaro needs to go in for a tune-up. Figured if you were free, we could grab lunch.”_

Stiles checked the time on his phone before putting it back to his ear. “I could eat.” He ignored that it had been less than half an hour since he’d had breakfast, but he was a growing boy! “I can pick you up at Armour Tire and Service and we can head to the diner.”

_“Sounds good. Can you pick up some raisin bread on your way out?”_

“You know you’re gonna get fat if you keep eating so much bread, right? Then where would I get my sexy muscles fix from?”

_“Just bring me the raisin bread.”_  Derek hung up.

Stiles chuckled, shoving his phone into his pocket and getting to his feet. He locked up before heading down and rounding the corner of the building to go through the front door of the bakery. They’d told him he could come through the back if he wanted, because the owner and all the bakers really liked him, but that always felt weird and was likely unsanitary since he’d have to walk through the kitchens, so he just figured it was more respectful to come through the front.

He appreciated that they all really liked him, though. The owner especially, though that was probably because he was the tenant upstairs and his new living arrangements meant he was at the bakery a _lot_. He was probably single-handedly keeping them afloat.

He bought raisin bread for Derek almost twice a week—seriously, _so much_ bread—and whenever he didn’t know what he wanted to eat for breakfast or lunch, he’d pop down to check out what they had. They didn’t make the same things every day barring the usual loaves of bread, but sometimes they had croissants, or chocolate bread, or sausage rolls, and even weird little cheese puffs. Their food was delicious.

Smiling at the cashier when he walked in, they made idle chit chat while she immediately pointed at the raisin bread in inquiry and started packing it up when he nodded confirmation. He came in for the stuff so often they probably only made it specifically _for_  him, at this point.

Stiles stuck around to chat for a little longer, since he knew certain hours of the day could get boring with everyone working, but he had to meet up with Derek so he eventually cut it off, wished her a good day, and headed out.

He considered asking about a job there on his way to the car garage in town, but knew the chances were slim given he had no experience in this sort of thing. He had a lot saved up from his few years out of town, and cost of living in Beacon Hills was _way_  cheaper and thus more affordable, but he needed to find himself something to keep that buffer. With classes, he figured he’d have to get some kind of shift work, which was fine, if not obnoxious.

Being an adult was hard. He didn’t like it. Then again, being a teenager had been hard too, what with the Werewolves, and the magic, and the crazy people.

Actually, that still happened, on _top_  of the adulting he had to do. Life was hard. The oblivious people had no idea how easy they had it.

Ignorance truly was bliss in the case of the supernatural.

Made life less boring, though. And hey, if not for Scott being turned, Stiles never would’ve met Derek and he and Lydia wouldn’t have become such close friends. So, there was that, he supposed.

Stiles waved one hand when he pulled into the front lot of the garage, Derek standing creepily by the edge of the lot with his hands in his pockets and his leather jacket on. When he climbed into the car, grabbing the loaf of raisin bread off the passenger seat, Stiles poked him in the arm.

“You’re getting too old to rock the leather, Derek.”

“I’m only twenty-seven, stop acting like I’m _so_  much older than you,” he insisted, opening the bag and inhaling the decently fresh bread. “Thanks.”

“No prob. But seriously, you’re getting fat eating so much bread, maybe cut down to one loaf a week?”

Derek just gave him a look and Stiles grinned, driving them back the way he’d come so they could head to the diner. They spoke mostly about Derek’s car while they drove, the thing acting up lately, probably because it was so old. Derek insisted Stiles wasn’t one to talk since the Jeep was literally being held together by love, duct-tape and faith.

Parking in the lot, they headed into the diner and grabbed a booth near the back so they weren’t too close to the rest of the patrons. While not necessarily something Stiles wanted to discuss, their conversations always inevitably deviated to the problem of the week.

Well, not of the week. It wasn’t fair to say the problem was a weekly thing. More of a monthly thing. Something moved into town for a month or so, and they dealt with it before the next something showed up. Sometimes they overlapped and that was never fun.

They ordered when one of their usual waitresses came over, eying Derek and casually flirting with him, as always. Stiles found it amusing because Derek hadn’t changed in all the years he’d known him. He wasn’t rude, per se, but he was curt and very clearly sending “not interested!” vibes at her. Poor thing didn’t stand a chance, Broody McBrooderson was intent on staying single until the day he died.

He kept insisting sleeping with people either got them killed or turned them evil. Stiles felt inclined to agree, though did point out the string of one-night stands Derek had had during his “new life” that he’d told Stiles about.

Derek had just argued that they didn’t know if any of those people had died or turned evil and, to his credit, he was right.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked when the waitress walked away with a bounce in her step. She evidently thought the flirting was going well today.

Poor thing, Stiles really hoped she found a boyfriend soon. Derek was out of everyone’s league, even his.

“Right as rain, healthy as a horse,” Stiles informed him, pulling his water closer and chasing the straw with his tongue.

“I can smell your pain from here.”

“You try being human for a day, see how you like being tossed around.”

Derek rolled his eyes, as if Stiles were a huge inconvenience. Well, if he was, Derek was the one who wanted to suffer through his company, because he was always the one agreeing to plans with him, if not making them. Masochist, really.

Without a word, Derek reached out one hand and wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ wrist. Black lines began to bleed up through his arm, Derek wincing, but Stiles let out a soft, relieved exhale when he felt the various aches and pains slowly diminish. Once they were completely gone, Derek released him and shook out his hand.

“That was a lot of pain. Are you sure you shouldn’t go to the hospital?”

“And tell them what? ‘I was tossed around like a rag doll by a Witch last night, can I have some Tylenol’?”

Derek gave him a look and Stiles just flailed his arms. Sure, Melissa could probably help, but Stiles didn’t want to bother her.

“You hear about Deaton?” he asked. When Derek shook his head, Stiles relayed all the information he’d received, the Werewolf scowling and crossing his arms while leaning back in his seat.

“We have to do something. We can’t just keep running in blindly trying to find her.”

“She keeps kicking our asses,” Stiles agreed. “But have you noticed she’s extremely attuned to _exactly_  where we come from in the woods?”

“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ , it’s not like we always show up at the same place. We come from different directions, but every time we get to a certain point in the forest, she appears. It’s like she always knows where we are. Maybe she’s watching us.” Stiles shrugged. “Maybe one of us is next.”

“Don’t,” Derek said darkly, forcing Stiles to click his teeth together. He didn’t often see that look on Derek’s face, and he hated that it was there now.

Derek wasn’t part of Scott’s pack; his choice, not Scott’s. He refused to join his pack, but that was okay. It was no different to how things had been in the past, only reversed, with Scott not having wanted to join Derek’s. Scott was previously kind of sort of part of Derek’s pack without actually being part of it. They just all had an understanding, and that was how Derek was now.

He preferred being a lone wolf, but he was always around, and while he wasn’t technically _part_  of it, he kind of still was. He was a lone wolf, but with allies. People who cared about him, would look out for him, help him. And while Derek preferred being alone, he would still help out whenever he was needed. Stiles was okay with him not officially being pack, they were still close friends and he hung out with him a lot.

And he knew Derek was just afraid. He kept losing, and losing, and losing. He didn’t want to get close to anyone else, and while he wasn’t necessarily _close_  to anyone in Scott’s pack, he was still close enough.

Malia was his cousin, and Derek was close friends with both Stiles and Lydia, and he liked Scott well enough. That was already half the pack right there. The idea that he might lose someone else probably terrified him, and it sucked, because Stiles couldn’t stop that.

“So,” he said instead, deciding to bring things to safer waters, “how’s work coming along?”

“Fine.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Wow, Derek. You’re so chatty, it’s hard to get you to shut up.”

That earned him a scowl, but also had the desired effect because Derek began speaking about his newest piece.

He was an independent journalist, which was actually working out really well for him and providing a lot of dough. It also allowed for a lot of freedom because he could basically set his own hours, and being a freelancer meant he could write whatever he wanted and then try to market it to various papers. He was actually doing extremely well, and Stiles was happy for him.

He’d have preferred a job that required more interaction, so Derek wouldn’t always be _alone_ , but at least Derek had to talk on the phone every now and then, and he hung out with the pack when Stiles bullied him into it, so there was that.

Still, Stiles worried about him a lot. He didn’t want him to end up bitter and alone.

They were halfway through their meal when Stiles’ phone went off. He checked it and saw a text from Scott, saying Deaton wanted to meet with them to discuss their options and determine what kind of research was needed.

Stiles was the resident research guy so he knew that meant he had to go, no matter what.

He texted back that he was finishing up lunch and would head over with Derek.

“Duty calls,” he said with a sigh, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Scott needs us at Deaton’s when we’re done. Until then, can we pretend we both live boring lives and finish our meals like regular people?”

“There’s nothing ‘regular’ about you,” Derek informed him with a small smile teasing the corners of his lips.

“Rude. That’s just rude. Fuck you, Derek.”

He heard Derek mutter something under his breath, but didn’t catch what it was. He spent the rest of their meal trying to get him to repeat it, but he wouldn’t and by the time they left the diner, he’d forgotten all about it in favour of whining about how he was probably going to be late for class.

* * *

The best part of living alone was being able to do whatever he wanted. Whether it be let his dishes pile up in the sink, leave dirty clothes all over his floor, cover his walls with weird symbols and ritualistic sigils, or wander around naked.

That was literally the best part of not living with his dad.

The only downside to not living with his dad was that people broke into his apartment a lot more often. No one malicious, because his place was way too close to the police station for anyone to be that stupid, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to wander down the corridor naked after a shower to get clothes from his bedroom and find someone on his couch.

Usually Derek, but sometimes it was Malia, or even Lydia. No one had any respect for the privacy of his home, it was like he had a permanent ‘come on in’ sign flashing above his door.

Most people were good about at least letting him get clothes on before they started chatting with him, but Malia tended to forget about boundaries and would just follow him into his room while speaking to him. The first time he’d insisted she should let him change first, she’d just reminded him she’d seen him naked on multiple occasions and he was very well-endowed, therefore had nothing to be embarrassed about.

He’d stopped trying to make her understand after asking four times and now just tolerated her following him around as if it weren’t the weirdest thing in the world.

Thankfully, he wasn’t naked this time. He’d been watching some weird show on TV, procrastinating going to bed because that was his thing, with a whole bunch of research books spread out on his coffee table. A lot of them had post-it notes and folded corners, but he wasn’t any closer to finding a way to locate the Witch.

He’d just stood to head for the kitchen to get himself some chips, because Stiles had needs, and his current need was cheesy goodness in the form of Doritos. Opening the bag and shoving a handful into his mouth, he walked back out of the kitchen and almost choked when Derek was suddenly there, sitting on his couch and flipping through one of the books Stiles had on the corner.

“Hey Derek. Yeah, no problem, come on in, have a seat,” he said dryly, returning to the couch and falling onto it slightly closer to Derek than was necessary. In his defence, Stiles always sat on the middle cushion, so Derek could’ve taken the armchair if he didn’t want Stiles all up in his business.

As it stood, Derek didn’t seem to care, reading the book without even looking over at Stiles.

“Find anything useful?” he asked, reaching out blindly with one hand for the Doritos.

Stiles just held the bag out of reach until Derek turned to give him a look, raising his eyebrows. Stiles raised his own in answer, keeping the bag as far away from Derek as he could because these were _his_  Doritos! If Derek wanted to crash his research session, he had to bring his _own_  snacks!

“I’m still looking, but it’s not like we have a lot of books on magical types.” He stuffed another handful of chips into his mouth, shifting his body away when Derek tried to reach over him for the bag.

He missed, but Stiles knew he wouldn’t give up. If Derek wanted Doritos, sadly, he was going to get them no matter what Stiles did.

“Have you eaten something healthy today?”

Stiles thought about it. “Possibly? What day is today?”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, closing the book and ignoring the squawk he got in response. Stiles had now officially lost his damn page! “Get some clothes on, we’re going to dinner.”

“It’s eleven!” Stiles argued.

“The pub’s still open, come on.” He stood and grabbed at Stiles’ arm, forcing him to his feet while he whined pathetically. He didn’t _want_  to put real clothes on and leave the house. He wanted to stay indoors and order pizza.

Pizza was awesome. It had cheese. Cheese was amazing and wonderful and Stiles really wanted pizza now.

He allowed Derek to manhandle him to his bedroom, but the Werewolf shut the door firmly behind him once Stiles was inside. He could hear him heading back for the couch and Stiles just sighed, turning to grab some jeans off the floor and changing out of his sweats. He pulled off his pyjama shirt and found the most decent looking shirt he could from the piles on his floor, then yanked a hoodie on overtop.

Snatching up his keys and wallet, he headed back for the living room to get his phone. Derek stood and headed for the door once it was clear Stiles was ready to go and they exited the apartment, heading down the stairs and out the back.

Stiles climbed into the Camaro, because it was in better shape than the Jeep, and Derek started the car before backing out to head down the road towards the pub.

“Hey, did you hear about Lydia?” Stiles asked, turning to Derek. When the other shook his head, he plowed on. “Apparently one of Deaton’s friends reached out and said they know a Banshee out in Alaska who’s willing to train with her if she’ll make the trip. Kind of cool that she could get some insight on her powers, though I don’t imagine Lydia will go.”

“I can’t see her trudging through snow to get to this person’s house,” Derek agreed, the corners of his lips twitching, as if he were about to smile. Stiles grinned, because he knew what he meant.

Lydia hated leaving the house when it was raining, let alone snowing. The likelihood of her heading to Alaska, even for training purposes, was almost laughable. But then again, they all needed help in their various areas, for the most part.

Except Stiles. Resident Human. He was fine being the research guy, no training necessary for him.

When Derek parked on the street a block away from the pub, Stiles started to open the door when Derek grabbed his arm. Stiles assumed something was wrong, but he slowly felt the aches and pains in his body leave him and realized Derek was taking his pain.

“Thanks,” he said when Derek released his arm.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he insisted with a scowl.

“Yes dad.” Stiles rolled his eyes and exited the car.

They headed into the pub a block down, and Stiles was incredibly offended that he got carded when Derek didn’t. He definitely looked older than twenty-one, but apparently no one else thought so. The stupid part of it all was that he was the sheriff’s son, and everyone knew the sheriff’s son!

Stiles punched Derek when they walked in, since the fucker was laughing, but all that earned him was a sore hand. He needed new friends. Friends he could punch without breaking his hand. Why was everyone so damn awesome?

They ended up sitting at the bar since the place was decently packed and Stiles ordered himself a pulled pork sandwich with some nachos and a beer. Derek just got some fries, since alcohol would do nothing for him and he didn’t want to have to pay for it.

It was hard to talk in the pub, so they mostly just sat in silence, watching the game playing on the television above the bar. Stiles sipped at his drink absently, eyes on what was happening, and almost choked when someone spoke in his ear.

“Hey.”

He turned to see a girl sliding into the seat beside him and instantly grinned, setting his drink down.

“Hi,” he called back, having to be loud since the place was bustling with noise and activity.

The girl leaned closer to him so her lips were at his ear again. One hand was on his thigh to keep her balance, and he couldn’t say that he minded. “Haven’t seen you around before. You new in town?”

He laughed at that, turning his head to call back in her ear. “I wish. Sheriff’s son. Born and raised in BH.”

“Ah, that explains it,” she said, her breath hot against his ear. It was doing things to him downstairs. “I moved to town last year, but I heard stories about the rebellious sheriff’s son.”

“I have a reputation,” he agreed, grinning. He hadn’t come out looking for a good time, and while he doubted things would go that way considering he still had a fuck-ton of bruises, it was nice being admired.

The two of them spoke to one another as best they could over the noise of the pub, people cheering every now and then when the game on the screen went one way or another. He and his new friend were leaning into each other so they could hear the other speak.

When Stiles’ food arrived, he pulled back to nod a thanks to the bartender, grabbing a nacho and popping it into his mouth before turning back to the girl so he could ask her about her new project, since they’d been speaking about her work.

She’d paled in the space of time it had taken him to turn away from her, eyes on something behind him. When she saw him facing her again, her eyes shot to him and she let out an awkward laugh, leaned forward to tell him she had to go, and then immediately slid off the stool and hurried away.

Stiles deflated, wondering if the way he’d eaten his nacho had offended her in some way. Or maybe she was vegetarian and his food was offensive? He didn’t know. Either way, another strike. He was really bad at this whole picking people up thing.

Turning back fully to the bar, he sighed and picked up his sandwich, biting into it while his eyes strayed back up to the mounted television. He let out a sound of protest through his full mouth when Derek reached over to grab at his nachos, having evidently finished his fries.

“Stop being so stingy with your food,” Derek insisted into his ear, breath hot and sending a shiver down his spine.

_Do not get turned on. Stiles, do **not**  get turned on! He will **smell**  it!_

“I’m poor,” Stiles insisted back loudly, pulling his plate further away from Derek.

Rolling his eyes, Derek flagged down the bartender and ordered Stiles another beer and asked for the bill. Stiles watched him pay it when it was set down in front of him, and then Derek turned to give him a look, eyebrows raised.

Damn him.

Stiles slid the plate closer once more and continued eating his sandwich while Derek slowly and methodically went through virtually all of Stiles’ nachos.

Like an asshole.

When Stiles was finished, he downed the rest of his second beer and stood, he and Derek heading for the door. He looked around for the girl he’d been speaking to, and found her near the back of the pub with two other girls. She was watching him wistfully, but hastily looked away when she saw him looking.

He couldn’t help but frown, finding it weird, but couldn’t dwell on it for long because Derek had one hand on his lower back, urging him out the door. Once they were back outside, Stiles covered his ears with both hands, the silence of the night fucking deafening after the noise from the pub. It was weird how ears worked that way, but he just kept his hands over his ears while they walked back to the Camaro.

It was a short drive back to his place, and Derek invited himself in as if he lived there. Stiles didn’t bother trying to kick him out, he just went back to work on the couch, a new show playing on the television.

They worked together in silence, and Stiles begrudgingly shared his Doritos with Derek. He passed out at some point in the night, but when he woke up the next morning, he was lying in his bed, still wearing his clothes with the covers tangled in his legs.

He walked out into the living room to find Derek passed out on the couch and kicked him awake so they could go and get some waffles.

Really, for someone who’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars rebuilding his old family home, Derek spent a lot of nights sleeping on Stiles’ couch.

* * *

Being an adult was hard, especially when Stiles had to rely on himself for food. Sure, he’d done most of the cooking when he lived with his dad, but usually the food just magicked itself into the fridge and pantry—okay sure, his _dad_  got it and put it there, but details! Now, if Stiles wanted food, he had to go and get it.

Unless Derek was around. Though he still had to go and _get_  it, but at least Derek usually paid for it when Stiles whined. It was kind of convenient, if not a little annoying since Derek wasn’t his sugar daddy. But damn if it didn’t help his finances.

Therefore, if he wanted real food in his pantry and fridge, alas, he had not yet trained Derek to deliver groceries, and there was only so long he could live off bread and sausages from the bakery before he turned into a loaf of bread himself. And he knew he had no excuse right now, because he didn’t have class, and he’d hit a wall on his Witch research, for the most part. He found a few things that could hurt her, but as usual, Scott had his whole ‘no killing’ rule, which was extremely troublesome. Most of the things he found were for killing, and while some could be used to injure her, extended exposure could kill her, so he wasn’t sure Scott would go for it.

Thus, out of excuses, so he just whined to himself for a period of time, curled up on the couch wrapped in a blanket, and then finally got hungry enough to concede defeat and get up to put real clothes on. He did a mental inventory of what he wanted, and needed, and knew he’d probably forget most of it by the time he reached the Jeep.

Which he did, but whatever, he’d walk through all the aisles.

He headed out to the store and did just that, perusing the aisles in an almost bored fashion before giving up and just loading up on a whole bunch of boxed macaroni and cheese. It was easier that way.

Derek would probably frown and force him to leave his house again to get real food, but that was a problem for future Stiles. And who’d appointed Derek the food police, anyway?

Stiles had just paid and was heading for his Jeep when a chill passed over him, like someone was watching him. He’d long ago learned to trust his instincts, so he knew that meant something was wrong.

Turning, he scanned the area, but he saw nothing of concern, and it wasn’t until he’d been putting his bags in the back of the Jeep that he noticed smoke billowing from the forest.

“Shit.”

Stiles slammed the trunk shut and hurried behind the wheel, pulling out his phone and texting the pack’s group chat, which he had created after literally two days back in Beacon Hills. How they’d survived without him, he had no idea.

Derek wasn’t technically part of the pack, but he was still sort of part of the pack, so Stiles had added him in as well. Wasn’t like it inconvenienced him too much since none of the others ever used the group chat. They usually texted each other individually, which drove Stiles _crazy_  because it was _such_  a waste of time!

**[Stiles]**  
fire in the woods!  
**[Stiles]**  
she’s got another victim!

**[Scott]**  
dammit!

**[Derek]**  
We’ll meet you there.  
**[Derek]**  
WAIT for us.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Stiles started the Jeep and sped out of the lot. He didn’t know if Parrish was on duty today, but he just hoped he’d seen the message and would come and help out. The Witch was turning into a problem and it’d be nice having a Hellhound around every now and then.

One with bullets, too.

This whole Witch thing was very strange, in his opinion, because she acted more like a Vampire than a Witch. She kept kidnapping people and draining them of blood, though Deaton insisted it was likely an attempt to perform some sort of ritual. They saw no rhyme or reason to the people she took, but so far—despite what Derek feared—none of the pack seemed to interest her, which was a good thing, Stiles supposed.

To date, there had been four deaths. Four people stolen from their loved ones, and it made Stiles’ chest ache at the thought of a fifth being there right now.

They hadn’t found the Witch’s lair yet. She always came to them when she sensed them in the woods, and he could only assume that she didn’t need to be present for the ritual with the victims to complete, because she’d hold them off and then disappear, and a few hours later there would be a dead body found somewhere in the woods.

The cops thought it was a serial killer. His dad and Parrish obviously knew otherwise.

The pack had ventured into the woods a few times over the past few weeks, both during rituals, and when there wasn’t anyone’s life at stake, but they couldn’t seem to locate her lair. She always seemed to know when they were approaching, and it drove them crazy. She was powerful, and dangerous, and killing people, and Stiles was _not_  going to let that continue.

Reaching the edge of the Preserve, he parked by the road, grabbed his bat, and raced into the trees, slapping branches out of his face. He wasn’t alone for long, because Derek appeared at his side moments later. It made sense he’d be the first to arrive, considering he lived the closest. He’d spent thousands of dollars rebuilding the old Hale house, which was where he was currently living—when he wasn’t harassing Stiles and passing out on his couch, anyway.

“I told you to _wait_ ,” he snapped with a scowl, face already in his beta shift.

“I knew you’d catch up, big guy.” He smacked Derek’s chest lightly, trying for a smile, but didn’t think he’d succeeded. “Scott?” Stiles asked, jumping over a log and wincing when the jarring landing made his entire body ache.

Derek tilted his head. “Almost here. Malia too, from the sounds of it.”

Stiles pulled his phone out to check on the rest of the Pack, Derek having to grab his arm and yank him to one side so he didn’t run into a tree.

Lydia had texted him to say she was with Deaton and they were going to keep looking through all the research Stiles had sent them for something that might help. Right now, they were trying to locate her lair, since they at least had a way to hurt her, even if Scott didn’t like it.

Desperate times and all that.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Derek made sure he was paying attention before releasing him. The two of them kept running, Derek evidently slowing down a little so Stiles could keep up. He wished he wouldn’t, the victim was more important than Stiles’ pride.

Eventually they met up with Scott and Malia. No sign of Liam or the others, but that didn’t matter, they didn’t have time to wait. The wolves scented the air and then quickly led the way towards where the fire was burning, but they’d only made it a few more feet into the woods when an invisible force slammed into Scott and he flew backwards through the trees.

Derek snarled and let out a howl of rage before leaping at the Witch, who’d materialized out of nowhere, as always.

It’d be really great if she could just walk out of the shadows like a normal big bad.

Stiles knew his body wasn’t ready for another beating, since it had only been a few days, but he tightened his grip on the bat anyway and charged the Witch. He and Malia tried to get blows in whenever they could, since Derek was keeping most of her attention as the larger threat, but she eventually knocked him back as well, hitting Scott who’d been coming back and sending them both flying into the depths of the forest again.

Now _Malia_  was the bigger threat, so the Witch mostly ignored Stiles until he got close enough to swing at her, then she’d just grab the bat with one hand and shove him backwards.

It was kind of frustrating that he didn’t have anything to attack her with, because no matter how hard he swung the bat, it was like he was just hitting her with a tube of paper towel. She could probably turn his bat into splinters, if she wanted to, which was annoying because this bat had gotten him through so many life or death situations!

The four of them kept fighting her, Stiles nervously keeping an eye on the time. They weren’t going to make it. They weren’t going to stop her before the person she’d taken... Shit.

_Shit_!

As predicted, when they’d all been pushed back by an invisible force, the Witch cackled and did her usual disappearing act. Except this time was different, because Stiles was closer than the last.

This time was different, because the second she’d started cackling, Stiles had propelled himself forward, one hand outstretched, and he closed his fingers around black material just as Derek shouted his name and he felt his gorge rise, everything going black.

When his vision returned, he stumbled back a few steps, feeling ready to throw up, and released what he’d been holding, looking around urgently.

His eyes were struggling to focus, it felt like the world was spinning and he stumbled, reaching out to steady himself but instead knocking things off a nearby table and falling to the ground. He got to his hands and knees, shaking his head and trying to clear his vision even as he heard echoed tsking from behind him.

“Well, well,” an echoing, sinister voice said, “aren’t _we_  a clever little fox, hm? I don’t remember inviting you.”

Stiles let out a grunt when a hand was in his hair, wrenching his head back. The old crone was staring down at him with black eyes and a malicious expression on her lined face.

“I know what to do with little foxes, my boy. We’ll see how desperately they want you back after I’m through with you.”

That didn’t bode well, and when her hand flashed and light exploded in his eyes, Stiles’ brain lost track of everything and he passed out.

He should’ve stayed on the couch today.

* * *

Stiles fully expected to be dead when he came to. Which he realized made no sense, because if he was dead, he wouldn’t be coming to, but that wasn’t the point! The point was, he fully expected to be dead when he came to, and he wasn’t. Which was worrisome.

Because maybe he was next on the victim’s list.

Every single inch of him hurt more than it ever had before, and he knew immediately that something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Struggling to get his eyes opened, his vision swam horribly and he tried to look around. It was weird... Everything looked really weird.

He felt like it was dark, like there was no light, but somehow he could see fairly well, which made no sense because Stiles _never_  ate his carrots as a child and had horrible night vision. He looked to be in some kind of cage, with bars all around him when he turned his head. Also his nose was protruding quite a lot, and when he tried to reach up to touch it, he found his arm wasn’t moving how he wanted it to.

Struggling to his feet, he didn’t quite manage it and crashed back to the ground, hissing at the pain in his limbs and trying to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Light suddenly flashed and he clenched his eyes shut, turning his head away and then slowly blinking his eyes open. Things were illuminated once more, looking normal now, and he turned back to glare at the Witch approaching him.

Except... she looked... kind of huge. Not, like, a _giant_  or anything, but much bigger than he remembered. Had he shrunk? Maybe she’d turned him into a pixie or something and he was the size of a doll. That’d be embarrassing, he was _never_  gonna get laid.

“Look who’s finally awake.” The old crone bent down in front of him, hood still up and eyes still fully black. It was creepy as fuck. “How are you feeling, my pet? Have a good nap?”

Stiles opened his mouth to shout profanities at her but instantly stopped when a loud, high-pitched screech escaped him.

That wasn’t right.

That was _definitely_  not right.

“You turned out to be such a beautiful little thing,” she informed him, poking one finger into his cage. He went to bite her, but she retreated it quickly, cackling creepily. “But of course, you have no idea how beautiful you are. Shall I show you?”

Stiles felt like he was going to be sick, because something was wrong. It was all very wrong, and he didn’t know what to expect so he didn’t know how to brace himself and when the woman returned with a mirror and aimed it at him, it took a few seconds for him to realize what he was looking at.

Oh God.

Oh God, oh God, oh God!

Oh fucking God!

He stumbled back in the cage, hitting the opposite end and stumbling, because he wasn’t used to this. He was _so_  not used to this! He looked down, positive that this was all a horrible dream, but sure enough, he didn’t have human arms and legs, he had animal legs, and he had _fur_  and he wasn’t human anymore and oh fucking Christ, _what_  had she done to him?!

“I decided on a Swift Fox for a clever little thing like you,” she informed him while Stiles continued to have a meltdown. “You were very quick at grabbing me. I’ve always wanted a human for a pet.”

He was literally going to lose his shit right now.

Stiles wasn’t a Werewolf, okay! The turning into an animal thing was _not_  something he was used to. Or wanted. _Ever_! This was the worst! He was a fucking _animal_! He didn’t even know how to walk, or move in this form, everything hurt, like millions of tiny needles stabbing at him because his bones and muscles kept insisting this was wrong, wrong, wrong. He was not meant to be like this, he was meant to be a human, and he was in pain, and this was the worst, and oh God _no one_ was going to recognize him!

But—but wait. Okay, not a big deal. Less of a shock. He was a fox, okay, that was fine. He was a fox. But he probably still _smelled_  like Stiles. When the others came—provided they fucking _found_  the damn lair—they would _know_  it was Stiles. They would sniff him out, and Deaton would turn him back to normal, and this would’ve been nothing more than a bad dream.

“You must be hungry, being unconscious for so long. Here.”

Stiles tried to scurry back further in his cage, but he was already pressing against the back of it, and the cage wasn’t that big, but crazy lady had just dumped two dead mice and a handful of worms into his cage and—no. Stiles would starve. He would just starve, that was better.

“We’re going to be great friends, you and I, little fox.” Her hand moved faster than he could follow it, still new to this body, and tugged at one of his ears. He turned to bite at her, but she’d already retreated her hand, cackling. “Good night, little one. Until tomorrow, then.”

The lights went out again and Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest. It was going much too fast, way faster than any heart should ever go. If he was an animal, was his heart going to be okay beating this fast provided a fox’s heart _could_  beat this quickly? Or was his human heart still in there and going to tear itself right out of his chest because hearts were not meant to beat that quickly?

And what did Stiles know about animals?! Nothing! Fucking _nothing_! Dammit, he should’ve listened to Scott more. Scott would’ve been _fine_  as a fox, but not Stiles. No, Stiles was already having performance issues as the only human in their pack, and now he was a fox. A fucking _fox_!

A cute one, at least, but not the point!

Moving forward cautiously, Stiles winced—well, he went to wince, but had _no_  idea how that translated to his fox features—and reached out one paw to push the dead mice out of his cage. One of them went through the bars easily and fell to the ground, but the other was stuck and he had to shift it around, gagging at the streak of blood it left behind—and good _Lord_ , was that ever potent—before he got it to fall out of the cage as well.

The worms were still alive and wriggling disgustingly. Stiles let out a low whine, but eventually also pushed at them, because no _way_  was he going to live in this cage with dead mice and worms all over it! So he pushed at them and jumped when one of them latched itself to his paw. He began shaking it out violently, which only had the worm fly at his face and land on his muzzle.

He started freaking out, batting at his face, trying to get the worm off, scratching at himself painfully until it finally landed at his feet and he urgently brushed it away with his paw.

Man, lack of opposable thumbs was the worst, how did Derek do this?

Finally getting his small cage clear of dead things and bugs, Stiles struggled to get his limbs under control. He had no idea how to move as a fox, and while the space was small, he did his best to try and walk in a circle. His legs moved awkwardly, and it took him a few minutes to figure out how to move properly, but he finally got the hang of it. It was still awkward and uncomfortable, but at least he could move properly, now. Better than he’d been when he’d first woken up.

Though the pain was _excruciating_  and he hoped it went away sooner rather than later.

He tried to see about getting the cage door open but, again, lack of thumbs. It made things difficult. Making a face and hating that he was about to do this, he turned his head and instead tried to bite at the bars. He doubted it would work, but he was kind of desperate.

No dice, all it did was hurt his teeth.

Sighing and looking around dejectedly, Stiles curled himself up in a little ball in the back corner of his cage, starting when his tail hit him in the face, and tried not to panic.

This was okay. He was okay. He was still alive, and the others would find him.

Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

_Captain’s log: It is now day twelve of being a fox, and I miss my thumbs. And real food. Because rodents are disgusting._

Stiles ate the mice and worms.

He didn’t have a choice, because it was that, or die, and while he’d insisted the first few days that he’d rather die, he ran out of options when he was on day five because it was _literally_  that or die.

Foxes had weird teeth. All of them were tiny and sharp, but they didn’t have anything similar to molars, so he didn’t so much chew his food as he did just bite them into manageable pieces and swallow them. He tried not to think on it too much and just pretended the worms were spaghetti.

They did _not_  taste like spaghetti, but desperate times.

He hadn’t given up on the others finding him, because he knew they were probably all going crazy looking for him, but he _was_  slowly getting more and more depressed as time passed. It had been almost two weeks—just shy of, actually—since Stiles had followed the Witch and been turned into a fox. He was more used to his limbs now, but it was hard to stretch while trapped in the tiny cage. And he missed his thumbs. So much. Having opposable thumbs was something he definitely would not take for granted ever again.

The Witch fed him a lot, and always tried to pet him but he snapped his teeth at her and she just chuckled. She probably assumed that he would lose some of his fight eventually. He didn’t know how long he would last, if he was honest. What if the others never found him? What if the Witch finished off her weird ritual and moved on before long and took Stiles with her? What if he was stuck as a fox for the rest of his life, a pet to an evil, murdering Witch?

The thing he worried about the most was losing himself to the animal. He was a human, Stiles _knew_  he was a human, but he worried about what would happen if he was stuck in this form for too long. What would his mind be like after one year? Or two? Three, four, five? What if he woke up one day and forgot who he was, thought he was just a fox and this was his mistress and he just... became a fox?

What if he forgot he was ever human?

It scared him. A lot. He kept waking up every morning he was here and reciting things about his life. His friends, his family, what he remembered from classes, things he’d seen in the news, what his favourite food was. So far he still _felt_  human, but it had only been just under two weeks, so he wasn’t super impressed with himself yet.

Still, every day that passed made him more and more anxious that the others wouldn’t find him. The Witch would disappear every now and then. Sometimes she came back with a victim—and Stiles had to turn away and lower his ears to avoid listening to the ritual—and other times she just came back laughing, which made him feel like she’d been out fighting his friends and found their efforts comical.

Today seemed to be a rest day for her, because she hadn’t left at all. Not to fight his friends, and not to get a new victim. Stiles was lying curled up in the back of his cage, watching the old crone sit at a wooden table with a mortar and pestle, grinding random things he tried not to think about whenever he noticed they looked vaguely human.

He’d been watching her with her magic, though. He’d been keeping track of things that she did. Sometimes she had to look at a book before she could cast a spell. Sometimes she needed a crystal or a special stone. Other times she could just _cast_  without anything. No incantations, no crystals or stones, nothing.

He didn’t understand this form of magic, it made no sense to him, but he kept watching her because he was hoping if he got out of here that he could help the others defeat her.

One thing he still wasn’t sure about was the ritual she was conducting. He never saw her do anything with the blood she collected from her victims, and it made him wonder if maybe she hadn’t found the right source, or if she needed a _lot_  of it.

From his count, she was on victim number nine, and he hated how many people she’d stolen from their families. How many people would live out the rest of their lives not knowing what had happened to their loved one, and why. All they had was a body drained of blood, and no clues.

None that the sheriff’s department could disclose to the public, anyway.

Stiles sighed, still curled up in his little ball, when he heard a noise outside and his left ear twitched. His hearing had improved exponentially since being turned into a fox, but this was the first time he’d heard something out of the ordinary and his head rose.

The Witch noticed, turning to glance at him, and she’d barely gotten to her feet when a howl of rage reverberated through the cave. Stiles pressed his ears flat to his skull, the sound excruciating, but he stood excitedly in his cage because he _knew_  that sound!

Derek barrelled into the Witch’s lair and Stiles let out an excited yip, bouncing in his cage while the Witch threw various things at him, clearly unprepared and unable to conjure up any protection. Stiles had no idea _how_  the pack had made it to her lair without being noticed this time, but he was _thrilled_!

_Yeah, Derek! Get her! Get her in the face!_ Stiles was letting out weird barking sounds and yips, bouncing in his cage and watching while Derek and Scott tried to double-team her.

She was still powerful, even caught off-guard, but Lydia appeared in the background and threw some kind of black powder at her. The Witch screamed and clawed at her face, Derek slamming into her hard and knocking them both to the ground. He got on top of her, Scott tossing him a tire iron and then pressed it down against her throat sideways, so that the flat of it was crushing her windpipe.

She screamed and Stiles saw smoke sizzling up. They’d presumably given up on playing nice when she’d taken Stiles, because that was exactly what Stiles had said could harm and eventually kill her.

Iron.

Shit, this was _awesome_! He was getting out of here!

“Where’s Stiles?” Derek shouted in her face, features distorted and eyes bright blue. “Where is he?! Where’s Stiles?! Tell me!”

The Witch was clawing at Derek’s arms, angry lines of broken skin appearing along his forearms before healing over as if they’d never been there.

“His body never turned up, so we know he’s alive,” Scott insisted from behind Derek, eyes flashing red. “Where is he? Tell us now, and we’ll consider sparing you.”

“Refuse,” Derek snarled, pushing down harder, “and we’ll make sure your death is as painful as possible.”

Little dark for Derek, but he looked pretty pissed.

Stiles was going crazy in his cage, slamming against the bars and letting out various sounds that his fox vocal chords would allow him to make.

_Here, here! I’m over here! Look up! Look **up**  you fucking morons! I’m right here! Can’t you smell me?!_

The Witch cackled, though it sounded pained and weird black goo was oozing from her mouth.

“You’ll never find your friend. Not after what I did to him.”

Derek and Scott stiffened at those words.

“What did you do?” Derek asked, voice low and dangerous. Then, louder, “What did you _do_?! Where is he?! Where is Stiles?! What did you do to him?!”

The Witch just cackled, her skin beginning to crack and Derek wrenched the tire iron away from her neck, looking startled and concerned. The woman let out another loud laugh, black goo spurting from her lips, and then her skin went paper thin and crackled until she just dissolved into dust.

The pack went completely silent.

“No,” Derek said, voice broken and terrified all at once. “No, no! No!” He started digging through the dusty remains of the Witch, as if trying to figure out if she’d just teleported away or had died. As if the dusty remnants of her being would tell him where Stiles was. “No! _No_! Where is he?! Where’s Stiles?! No!”

“Oh my God,” Lydia was saying from the entrance, both hands in her hair. “Oh my God, she’s gone. She’s gone, and she—Stiles. We don’t know where—”

_I am **right here** , you fucking morons!_

Stiles was still going nuts in his cage, slamming into the bars and letting out loud, hacked barks. He pawed insistently at the bars, trying to make them just _look_  at him, but they didn’t. Lydia was staring wide-eyed at the dust on the floor, Scott was pale and looked like he was going to be sick, and Derek was still desperately digging through the dust and dirt that had disintegrated beneath him.

“Look around,” he finally ordered, turning to the other two. “Look around, we have to find something. A hint, a clue, _anything_. Just—just _find_  something!”

The three of them spread out, and Stiles wondered where the rest of the pack was since no one else was there. Maybe they thought they had a better chance of sneaking up on the Witch if they were a smaller team. Which seemed to have worked, though they’d obviously underestimated how weak the old crone had been.

It made sense, he supposed. Every time Derek and Scott were exposed to wolfsbane, they suffered and slowly began to die, but they were young, they could hold out longer. If an older Werewolf was infected with wolfsbane, they would probably die more quickly.

The same held true for the Witch. They’d found her weakness, and had overestimated her ability to withstand it, and now she was dead.

Scott passed right by the cage and Stiles tried to reach out with one paw to grab at him but he missed and Scott just kept walking, moving further into the lair. It was like they couldn’t even fucking _see_  him!

Shit, what if they _couldn’t_  see him?! What if he was an invisible fox or something?!

His blood ran cold when he realized, worse yet, the Witch was dead.

The Witch was _dead_ and Stiles _was still a fox_!

_Oh God. Oh God, oh fuck, okay, don’t panic. Don’t panic, you’ll—it’ll be okay. You can’t be invisible, you saw your own reflection, they’re just—they’re too focussed on finding you. Just let them look around, keep making noise, and one of them will notice you eventually. The turning human thing can be dealt with later._

He continued to bang against the side of his cage and let out barks and yips, but none of them paid him any attention. Lydia was flipping through all the books and papers on the rotted desk, Scott was off in the back doing God knew what, and Derek was desperately looking through all the other rooms, a panicked look on his face that Stiles had never seen before.

“Oh God,” Lydia suddenly said, and Stiles looked back at her.

Scott and Derek were beside her instantly. She’d opened one of the desk drawers and with shaky hands, she was pulling out Stiles’ hoodie. Then his shirt, and his jeans.

“Oh God,” she said again, pale with tears brimming. “Oh my God, these are-these are his _clothes_. Why does she have his clothes? Where _is_  he?”

“He’s okay,” Scott insisted, sounding less convincing than Stiles was sure he was going for. “He’s okay, we’re gonna find him. We will.”

_If you’d turn to the **right** , you fucking **would**  find him, Scotty!_

Man, not being able to speak was _extremely_  inconvenient! He continued to claw and bang against the bars while the others had a mini panic attack at the desk, and finally, _finally_ , Scott turned to look at him.

“Would someone _shut that thing_ up?!”

“Leave it alone,” Derek snapped. “It’s just an animal, it doesn’t know any better.”

“What are we gonna do?” Lydia asked, voice tight. “How are we—oh God, what if he’s... what if she...”

“He’s not dead,” Derek insisted vehemently, grabbing the clothes from Lydia roughly and folding them up, then rolling them all together and tucking them under his arm. “He’s not dead, he’s _fine_. He’s out there somewhere, and we’re gonna find him.” He looked around the empty lair once more, expression closed off. “Come on, let’s grab what we can and get out of here. We’re not gonna find anything else.”

“We’ll talk to Deaton tomorrow,” Scott said softly to Lydia. “We’ll call the others and reconvene, consider our options.”

Lydia hugged herself but nodded while Scott grabbed a satchel off the floor and began to shove books into it. Derek helped him, having found another bag and he pulled the strap over one shoulder, holding his hand out for the one Scott had. Scott obediently passed it over and Derek pulled it onto the same shoulder, still holding Stiles’ clothes under one arm.

Then, they turned to leave, and Stiles’ stomach dropped.

_No. No, no, no! Don’t-don’t **leave** me here! You guys! You guys, it’s **me**! Come back!_

Scott wrapped his arm around Lydia’s shoulders and pulled her into his side, exiting the lair with her, Derek trailing behind them.

Oh fuck, they were going to abandon him here! They were going to _leave_  him locked in this cage! He was going to be stuck here, starving and wasting away, until he fucking _died_  and they would _never_  know he was Stiles!

_Don’t leave me! **Derek**!_

He let out an extra loud, high-pitched sound of distress and Derek paused just before exiting the lair, turning back to him with a frown. Stiles pawed at the cage desperately, eyes wide and staring intently right at him.

_Come on, Derek, you **know**  me! You know it’s me! Come on!_

Derek glanced out of the lair, then back at Stiles before he sighed and wandered over to the cage.

_Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Oh thank God! Oh thank you Jesus! Thank you, thank you!_

He stopped in front of the cage, eying Stiles uncertainly, then bent down a little and stared in at him. Raising one hand, he pointed a finger at him.

“If you bite me, I’m turning you into dinner.”

Stiles obediently backed away from the cage door, Derek still watching him uncertainly before unlocking it. Stiles bounded out urgently, leaping at Derek. He stumbled back, almost dropping Stiles’ clothes, but managing to hold onto them while Stiles scurried his way up Derek’s chest and onto his shoulder, trying to force himself closer to his nose.

_Sniff me! Derek, fucking sniff me! It’s me! It’s Stiles! Come on, big guy, use that nose!_

Derek recoiled and grabbed the scruff of Stiles’ neck with his free hand, wrenching him off him and holding him at arm’s length, paws flailing uselessly.

“You smell like dark magic. You definitely need a bath.”

_Seriously?! Come **on** , dude!_

Derek shifted him closer to his chest once more, getting him held up properly in his free arm, and Stiles only remained put because he worried about Derek just tossing him away.

Fine. Okay. He smelled like magic. He needed a bath. Fine. He could deal with that. And _after_  the bath, Derek would smell him and recognize him and this whole nightmare would be over!

Derek wandered back out of the lair with Stiles tucked in one arm, two satchels on his shoulder, and Stiles’ clothes in the other, walking after Scott and Lydia who’d stopped to wait for him a few feet away. Scott gave him a weird look.

“What are you doing with that thing?”

“It’s not a thing, it’s a fox, and it hasn’t done anything to anyone,” Derek insisted. “It wouldn’t have been right to just leave it there.”

“For all we know, the Witch transferred her spirit into that thing!” Scott insisted, motioning Stiles angrily. “We should just get rid of it. Throw it back out into the wild, where it belongs.”

_Oh fuck, do **not**  throw it back out into the wild, it will **not**  survive that!_

Stiles curled himself more into Derek, tucking his tail closer to himself and looking up at him pathetically. Derek scowled down at him, like he kind of saw Scott’s point, but he shook his head and insisted the fox was fine and he’d take care of it if it became a problem. Well, not comforting, but at least Stiles wasn’t being tossed out to the mercy of the predators in the forest.

The three of them began to walk, heading back for where they’d undoubtedly left their cars, and Stiles looked around, trying to determine where they were. It seemed to take an exceptionally long time to reach their cars, which meant they hadn’t been anywhere near close to finding the Witch back when Stiles had still been around.

They stopped beside their respective vehicles, Derek near the Camaro, and Scott and Lydia by her car, the three of them looking at each other.

“What am I supposed to tell his dad?” Scott asked quietly.

Derek shook his head, clearly not having an answer for him. “I’ll head to Deaton’s. I need to get the fox checked out anyway, and I’ll bring him Stiles’ clothes and the books. Maybe we can find him with some magic.”

Lydia and Scott didn’t say anything, and the three of them kept staring at one another for a long while before they finally entered their respective vehicles. Derek set Stiles’ clothes almost gently into the passenger seat, tossed the bags of books into the back, then climbed behind the wheel with Stiles still pressed to his chest. He slammed the door and watched Lydia’s car pull away from the side of the road and drive off.

When he was sure they were gone, Derek buried his face in his free hand and let out a slow, shaky exhale. He was hugging Stiles a little too tightly to his chest, but Stiles didn’t mind. He was just watching Derek, a little surprised at how emotional he was.

Not that Stiles didn’t think Derek had emotions, it was just weird to see him look this upset. Derek was more of a private person when it came to expressing his pain. The most Stiles had ever seen was when Boyd had died.

Otherwise, Derek kept his emotions private. Though Stiles supposed it made sense he felt fine showing a little vulnerability, he didn’t know the fox in his arms was Stiles.

“Fuck.” Derek punched hard at the steering wheel, bending it slightly. “Fuck, Stiles! Where _are_  you?”

It hurt his heart to see Derek so upset because of _him_. Especially since he was _right there_. He nuzzled into Derek’s neck, feeling him tense. He pulled Stiles away from his chest and started to put him down on the passenger seat, then paused and instead kept him in his lap. Like he didn’t trust him not to make a mess.

Derek buckled himself in, and then pressed one hand against Stiles’ back, obviously trying to keep him put. Stiles just lay down in his lap, finding it weird since he could smell Derek’s feet from here and _man_  did having a good sense of smell suck, how did the wolves _do_  it?

He didn’t see where they were going, because of how he was lying, but he just stared up at Derek while he drove, eyes on the road. Every few seconds, he would shake his head slightly and let out a slow, shaky exhale. Stiles hadn’t realized how much his disappearance would affect him.

Every time the car eased to a stop, Stiles thought they were at Deaton’s, but after the first few times he realized it was just red lights. He hated not being able to see, it was the worst.

No. Not being able to _speak_  was the worst. But not being able to see was a close second. Actually missing opposable thumbs was probably tied for second.

Eventually, the car stopped and Derek turned off the engine, pushing open the car door after unbuckling himself and climbing out with Stiles in his arms again. He opened the back door so he could get the satchels, pulling the straps over the opposite shoulder he was holding Stiles with before shutting the door. Then, he reached into the car through the still open front door for Stiles’ clothes and slammed the door once he had them. He headed for the back of the clinic, and had to kick at the double doors since his hands were full.

They opened moments later, Deaton looking exhausted but alert.

“Scott texted to say you were on your way. Anything?”

Derek shook his head, walking into the clinic and Deaton shut the doors behind him. “We found the lair. No sign of Stiles.” He walked into one of the back rooms and turned to Deaton, saying softly, “The Witch is dead.”

“Stiles is a very resilient young man, I’m sure he’s alive out there.”

_Or right here!_

Stiles began to squirm in Derek’s arms. Deaton was smart, he would probably figure it out!

“Stay still,” Derek insisted, voice harsher than Stiles was _sure_ he meant for it to be.

“Who’s this?” Deaton asked, moving forward and pulling Stiles from Derek’s grip, setting him down on one of the examination tables. And _man_  was that cold beneath his feet, good _Lord_. Vets should invest in table warmers.

“I found him,” Derek said. “Didn’t want to leave him out there all alone.”

“Hm. A Swift Fox, from the looks of it. Healthy, male, well cared for.” Deaton was poking and prodding at him, which Stiles _didn’t_  appreciate, but he just let him do it, hoping he looked as unimpressed as he felt. “Were you worried about him?”

“I don’t know. Figured I could get him checked out before sending him back out there. He’s a little small, I was just worried.”

“I see. Where did you find him?”

“Out in the woods, around the Witch’s lair.”

Stiles turned to him, utterly confused. Out in the woods? Around the lair?

_Are you losing your memory there, buddy? I was **in**  the lair, remember? Cage? With the clawing and the barking and the ‘let me out of here, I’m Stiles’ vibes?_

“Well, I can take a look at him and keep him overnight. You can come back for him in the morning.”

“Sure.” Derek set Stiles’ clothes on the table as well. “We found this,” he said quietly. “We thought—if there’s anything you can do...”

“Of course.”

_Perfect!_

Stiles wiggled free from Deaton and scurried over to the clothes, digging through them urgently for his phone when Derek grabbed him and set him back down none too gently on the other side of the table.

“Stop that! That isn’t for you!”

_Derek, you big, lovable lug, let me get to my phone!_

It occurred to him it would have no charge, but he just needed them to stop being so thick! Stiles’ clothes had been found in the Witch’s lair, and they now had a fox who was acting weird. Did it not occur to them it _might_  be Stiles?!

Jesus, he really _was_  the smartest one in the pack, this was fucking ridiculous!

“Let me put him away and we can talk, then I’ll look him over.”

“Can you give him a bath, too?” Derek muttered. “He stinks of magic.”

“Of course.” Deaton exited the room, Stiles in his arms, and he wiggled and squirmed. He didn’t _want_  to go into another fucking cage! He’d been in a cage for two weeks, he wanted people to realize _it was him_ and help him turn human again!

He had rent to pay, and classes to attend, and he did _not_  have _time_  for this! Come on!

Deaton unlocked a cage in the back and had to practically shove Stiles into it because he refused to go in, locking his legs against the sides of the cage and trying to stop himself from being pushed into it. Come on, it was a totally human thing to do, how had Deaton not caught on to that?!

He eventually lost that battle and was shoved into the small cage, Deaton shutting and locking the door before smiling in at him.

“I’ll only be a minute. I’ll be back for you soon, and we can have a look at you and get you some food.”

Oh joy. More dead mice and worms. Yum.

Stiles whined loudly while Deaton walked away, but he just exited the room and let the door swing shut behind him, successfully crushing any hope Stiles had of the man recognizing who he was.

This was the worst.

Stiles curled up into a ball in the back of his new little cage and buried his face in his tail, struggling not to cry.

It was okay. It was just a few hours. They were all worried about him, they weren’t paying attention to the fox. Stiles could make them understand in a few days, he was sure.

He could make them realize that it was _him_.

* * *

_Captain’s log: It is now day thirteen of being a fox, and vet offices are the fucking **worst**._

Stiles would forever feel instantly and insanely bad for each and every animal that was forced to visit the vet’s office, because he could now say with actual _first-hand_ experience that it was _not_  fun. Especially when considering Stiles was a human and this was quite possibly the literal worst, because Deaton had no problems going for all the private parts without notice.

He gave Stiles a full examination, checking literally every inch of him before giving him a whole bunch of shots—which Stiles _severely_  hoped wouldn’t hurt him as a human!—and then eventually a bath. Thankfully he hadn’t been neutered because he probably would’ve fucking murdered someone going for his nads with sharp things, but it had been an extremely stressful and uncomfortable experience and fuck vets.

Except not really, because Deaton was just doing his job, but still! Fuck vets.

He didn’t like being put back in the cage, and a part of him worried Derek wasn’t going to come back for him. What would Deaton do if Derek told him to just toss him back out into the wild? Stiles could make it back to his house, he was sure, but what if there were a lot of cars? Or dogs, or wolves, or any other large animal that would love to take a bite out of him? Then what?!

Deaton didn’t end up giving him any food, probably because he checked the time and said he’d be back in the morning. Stiles didn’t know who he was speaking to, but figured he had a habit of talking to the animals.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he found it difficult to sleep. It wasn’t helped by the various other animals in the kennel with him, howling and barking and meowing and being generally annoying. He just curled up in a ball at the back of his little cage and tried his best not to panic about what the future held for him. He could get the others to figure out it was him, he was sure of it, but he needed to get an _opportunity_  to do so, and right now, he was a little low on opportunities.

Eventually, Scott showed up for work, and Stiles yipped and pawed at the cage, trying to get his attention, but his friend just ignored him, going directly to a dog in the bottom left hand corner and pulling it out while the rest of the kennel went _nuts_. Made sense, Werewolf and all. Stiles was probably behaving similarly to others and thus nothing for him to pay attention to.

Scott left the room shortly thereafter and Stiles just sagged, annoyed.

Deaton came in to feed them all a bit later, and Stiles was a little relieved to be given some fruits and vegetables as opposed to insects and dead rodents. He ate those up happily, licking at his chops and waiting for Derek to come back.

The day passed excruciatingly slowly, because Stiles had nothing to do. At least with the Witch he could watch her do whatever and be entertained, but here? No, here, he had nothing. He just had himself and all the other loud animals, and the more time passed, the more anxious he got because why hadn’t Derek come back?

Oh God, _was_  Derek coming back? What if he seriously just wanted Deaton to check him out and then he’d be set free? Who kept a fox for a pet?!

Like, some people, sure, but not people like Derek! Derek wouldn’t want a pet fox, Derek was all broody and grumpy and bossy. He didn’t have time for pet foxes! He was screwed, he was so, _so_  screwed!

Stiles didn’t know if he could have a panic attack as a fox, but he felt like, slowly but surely, he was starting to have one the more time passed. He was keeping track of the hours based on when Deaton came in to feed them all, and when Stiles got his third meal, he knew he was fucked. Because it had been an entire day, and no Derek. He was fucked.

_Fucked_!

Deaton stood watching him through the cage while Stiles ate dejectedly, figuring this was his last meal and Deaton was about to grab him and bring him to the woods where he’d have to fend for himself and get back to his house and somehow show his dad who he was and fuck, his life was a disaster. He should’ve stayed with the FBI.

Hell, he should’ve just stayed on the couch.

When he was done eating, Deaton opened the cage once more and slowly pulled him out, scratching lightly beneath his chin and smiling down at him.

“You’re a cute little thing, aren’t you?”

_Yes, yes, I’m adorable,_ Stiles thought miserably. _I’ll have all the cute vixens all excited when I show up for like, two seconds, before a hawk comes out of the sky and eats me. Thanks Deaton._

Deaton carried him back out of the kennel and when he moved through the corridor, Stiles perked up slightly because he could–wait, could he? Was that Derek? Could he hear Derek?!

When Deaton pushed through another swinging door into an examination room, Derek and Scott were lingering around the table, having a conversation. Scott looked tired and worried. Derek looked pissed off and exhausted, arms crossed over his chest and scowl on his face.

Stiles immediately squirmed to get free, Deaton startled enough that he lost his grip on him and Stiles landed on the examination table before launching himself at Derek. He barely had enough time to uncross his arms to catch him, but he managed, Stiles rubbing against his neck and shoving himself into his face.

_Do I smell like me now? No more magic smell, come **on** , Derek, smell me! Smell me, damn you!_

“Someone’s happy to see you,” Deaton said teasingly, moving up to the table so the three of them could talk.

Derek just lightly pet Stiles’ head, but if he smelled anything familiar on him, he didn’t show any indication of it. Stiles deflated, figuring maybe the scent of magic was too potent. That was fine, Derek was here, he could figure something out. He’d get him to realize it was him, he was sure, he just... needed time to determine how to _do_  that.

“How is he?” Derek asked.

“Healthy and in good shape. He’ll be fine.”

Derek let out a small hum, still petting Stiles, and turned to look at Scott when the other said, “Wait, you’re _keeping_  it?”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, ‘why not’?! Don’t you remember where you found it? It could be diseased!”

“Deaton literally just said he was fine. And he seems to like me.” Derek looked back down at Stiles, still petting him. “Besides, I could use some company.” He seemed to shake himself after a moment and turned back to Scott. “Any news on Stiles on your end?”

“No,” he muttered miserably, deflating. “His dad is a wreck.”

“I have a friend who may be able to help,” Deaton informed them. “A Warlock. Very powerful. Extremely coveted by all. He tends to travel a lot, and does not like making his presence known, so it will take time to locate him.”

“But he can help us find Stiles?” Derek asked, grip tightening on the fox in his arms.

Which, _ow_ , Derek!

_Don’t make me bite you!_

“He should be able to assist us, yes. I fear we may be in for a long wait, but Stiles is resilient. Wherever he is, I’m sure he will manage for a while longer. I did a few spells of my own last night on his hoodie and can confidently tell you both he’s alive. His presence is faint, and flickering, but he’s alive.”

“Faint and flickering doesn’t sound good,” Derek insisted. “We need to find him _now_!”

Damn straight faint and flickering didn’t sound good! Was Stiles going to lose himself to the animal soon or something?

_Math. Economics. Mom. Dad. Derek. Scott. Star Wars. Okay, still human. Still got it._

But for how long? If his presence was faint and flickering, what did that mean? Was he in danger of being snuffed out for good? Stiles didn’t want to get snuffed out! He felt much happier _not_  being snuffed out!

He’d lost track of the conversation, worrying about his life being snuffed out, and he only snapped back into it when Derek had turned and was heading for the door, saying he was going to keep searching.

Derek had almost made it to the door before he paused and turned back to ask Deaton and Scott what foxes ate and how he should deal with the bathroom situation.

Stiles didn’t like thinking about what he’d been doing for his bathroom situation up to this point. He had his pride, it was best to keep dark thoughts of the past in the past.

“You can get him a litter box,” Deaton said, making Stiles hate him _instantly_. “It may be difficult to train him to use it, though. You might be better off closing a portion of your backyard and letting him out there to do his business.”

Derek grunted and asked about food. Deaton gave him the rundown on what he could eat, and Stiles was annoyed to find he could eat a _lot_  as a fox, and that rodents and worms were _not_  at the top of the food chain.

Chicken. Apparently he could eat chicken. Why hadn’t the Witch bought him a roast chicken?!

After getting the information he needed, Derek left the clinic and went back to the Camaro with Stiles in his arms. He sat down behind the wheel and left Stiles in his lap, like the previous night, buckling himself in and beginning to drive with one hand on his back.

Stiles just lay down once more, sighing dejectedly. He’d figure it out once he got back to Derek’s, whenever that may be, since the Werewolf drove out to the Preserve and then went in circles for _hours_  with the window down and his head tilted.

He wasn’t an idiot, Stiles knew Derek was looking for him, but it was annoying that something was wrong with his scent and that Derek had no idea he had Stiles _lying in his lap_!

He tried not to be bitter about it though. It wasn’t Derek’s fault, and at least he cared and was trying to find him. Not that Scott wasn’t, but he’d been at work a majority of the day so Derek was the one actually going out of his way to find him.

After a few hours of this, Derek seemed to realize what time it was and drove off somewhere else, Stiles unable to see. By the time the Camaro stopped and Derek climbed out with him in his arms, he turned to see where they were and bared his teeth.

PetSmart. Ugh. He was about to get a litter box.

Gross.

And the annoying thing was, he couldn’t even _not_  use it, because he had to stay on Derek’s good side until he realized he was Stiles, otherwise he was liable to get kicked out.

Stiles didn’t want to get kicked out, he was very sensitive to being kicked out.

Derek wandered into the store with him, some of the cashiers cooing at Stiles because, yes, yes, he was very cute, thank you. He was getting more attention as a fox than he’d ever gotten as a human.

Figures.

He just pouted while being carried through the store, one of the girls helping Derek with what he needed and bringing it all to the cash register for him since he seemed reluctant to loosen his grip on Stiles. He probably didn’t want him wiggling free and wreaking havoc across the store.

He _was_  pretty destructive, he’d admit that.

Stiles was _extremely_  put out to see Derek picking out a cage for him, and he kicked up a fuss about it, Derek having to grab him with both hands and pull him away from his body, glaring at him. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then flashed his eyes and bared his teeth at Stiles.

Normally, that would’ve worked on an animal, but Stiles wasn’t an animal, and he’d been on the receiving end of worse looks so he just kept struggling and letting out hacking sounds that he supposed were meant to be barks. Derek scowled at him, then looked at the cage and let out a deep sigh, giving Stiles a small shake.

“Fine, _fine_ , no cage. But you piss on my carpet or chew my walls, you’re going to regret it.”

Stiles calmed down immediately, Derek giving him a confused look, but he pulled him back to his chest and Stiles behaved the rest of the time they perused items in the store.

Eventually, they left and headed for the grocery store. Derek put him on the floor in the passenger seat before exiting the Camaro, and made very pointed, threatening gestures at him _not_  to damage his car. Stiles rolled his eyes, but Derek didn’t seem to notice, rolling the window down a crack, shutting the door and hurrying for the store.

Stiles jumped back onto the driver’s seat and got on his hind legs, resting his front paws on the windowsill to watch Derek walk away.

It was weird, having Derek care for him like this. Weirder to realize he was the most broken up about Stiles’ disappearance out of everyone in the pack, but kind of nice. He felt bad that he was probably going to be a huge pain until Derek put two and two together, but it would be for a good cause.

Like Stiles’ sanity. He considered that to be a good cause.

Derek wasn’t gone for very long, and it was obvious it was because he worried about the state of his Camaro. He was doing a weird half-jog thing on his way back to the car, scowling when he saw Stiles on his seat.

Waiting until Derek was right beside the car, Stiles backed away onto the passenger seat and sat down, Derek entering the car and slamming the door. He eyed Stiles for a few seconds, then put the food on the floor of the passenger seat before buckling himself in. Stiles crawled back into his lap, because it was comfortable and smelled like Derek—for obvious reasons. He felt safe with Derek.

He was the only one who hadn’t walked out of the lair. He was the only one who’d taken Stiles in, who was buying him necessities, who was taking care of him.

Sure, it had only been a few hours, but Derek was always nice to Stiles, even as a human, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him that if anyone was going to be nice to a poor fox in a Witch’s cage, it would be him.

Derek was a giant softie at heart, even if he refused to let people see it.

“Suppose I should give you a name of some kind,” Derek said after they’d pulled out of the lot and were heading home. “What kind of names do people even _have_  for their pets nowadays?”

Stiles didn’t care, so long as it wasn’t stupid. Derek didn’t give him any indication of a name, clearly thinking on it, so he just snoozed on Derek’s lap while they headed back for the Hale house.

When they arrived, Derek made it clear he was worried Stiles would run off on him because he carried him back and forth from the house to the car while he unloaded everything he’d bought. It was kind of annoying, but at least he was being carried around.

While the pain in his limbs had long since disappeared, being cooped up in the cage for so long hadn’t exactly been helping his muscles develop properly, so until he could stretch and run around freely, it would probably be best someone carried him.

Also, Stiles was lazy and felt very pampered.

Once everything was in the house, Derek finally put Stiles down, motioning for him to explore. Stiles didn’t need to explore, because he was well acquainted with the house, so he just followed Derek around while he got things set up for him.

He put the litter in the laundry room and picked Stiles up a few times, setting him into it, as if to be sure he understood.

_Yeah, yeah, I got it. Pee and poo go here, I got it, Derek!_

After a few minutes of being home, Derek started making his own dinner, Stiles leaping up onto the counter. Derek paused in what he was doing to put him on the ground and Stiles just jumped back up again. Maybe if he was annoying enough, Derek would compare him to Stiles and realize _it was him_.

He didn’t know, he was just frustrated, he wanted someone to figure it out. If their roles were reversed, _Stiles_  would’ve known, he was sure. But _no_ , because it was _Stiles_  who was a fox, his friends were _idiots_.

He and Derek played a game where he’d jump up on the counter and Derek would put him back on the floor. Really, he was surprised at how patient Derek was being, but he realized it was because he was distracted, chopping vegetables, but gaze a million miles away.

Eventually, he gave up and just let Stiles stay on the counter. He attributed it more to him not trying to steal Derek’s food than anything else. Stiles sat down, watching Derek work at chopping and dicing vegetables before tossing everything into a pan with some chicken. He added some seasoning and pulled tortillas out of the cupboard, making it clear he was in the process of cooking fajitas.

Stiles had already eaten at the clinic, so he wasn’t hungry, but he was still kind of jealous. The most exciting thing he’d had to eat in the past two weeks was the fruit and veggies Deaton had given him throughout the day. _He_  wanted fajitas, dammit!

And cheese. God Stiles wanted cheese. He should’ve dealt with his cheese craving before being turned into a fox.

When Derek got a plate of food ready, he put Stiles down on the ground. The only reason he didn’t jump back up was because Derek was heading for the living room, so Stiles just followed.

He was a little surprised when he walked in, because there were books and papers everywhere, along with an entire wall of information. The wall looked to be mostly things about Stiles. Where he’d last been seen, what he’d been wearing, what they knew about where he could’ve gone. Just—everything.

Stiles walked cautiously through the room, being sure not to step on any papers on the floor, and saw Derek take a seat on the couch on top of some books, setting his food down on the paper-littered coffee table and pulling a book closer, rubbing at his face with one hand.

He looked even more exhausted than he had earlier, and his eyebrows were pinched, lips downturned while he flipped through the book.

Stiles noticed it was one of his. Most of the books on the coffee table were his, probably stolen from his apartment when he’d disappeared. He could even see his handwriting on some of the pieces of paper littering the area, which meant Derek had broken into his place to steal all his research.

Stiles cautiously jumped up onto the couch, moving closer and pressing into Derek’s side before curling up in a ball beside him, eyes on his face.

He’d never seen him look so concerned before. They’d all been through a lot of shit, a lot of people had died, gone missing, been injured. But Derek always kept his cool. Derek never showed how truly worried he was about people.

He worried, Stiles _knew_  he worried, but he’d never actively seen him slowly break down like this. He usually expressed his worry as anger or sarcasm in the presence of others, but this was Derek in his most vulnerable state, reading through a book with pages and pages of notes all around him, desperately trying to find Stiles.

Looking around, Stiles perked up when he saw a pen and leapt off the couch. Maybe he could write something. Sure, he had no thumbs, but he could probably figure something out with his mouth. Somehow.

Maybe.

Grabbing it between his teeth, he turned his head sideways, finding a random piece of paper, and tried to write his name. He figured if he just got his name out, it would be enough for Derek to realize something was happening and maybe he’d get the help he needed!

It took him a good five minutes to get the pen to press hard enough _and_  the paper to stay still, but he finally managed to get his name written out rather sloppily. It was discernable, which was the important thing, and he deserved some credit here, he was a fucking fox!

Dropping the pen and picking up the piece of paper between his teeth, he wandered back over to Derek, who’d taken maybe one bite of his dinner, which was definitely cold by now. He put his front paws on Derek’s knees to get up higher, and dropped the page onto the book he was reading.

“Not now, Red,” he insisted, picking the page up and tossing it aside.

Okay. Apparently he had a name now, Derek just hadn’t shared it. That was fine.

And in his defence, the page had landed the wrong way so his name hadn’t been showing. No big deal, he could try again.

Lowering himself back to all fours, he went for the page, being sure it was facing the right way, and tried again. Derek tossed it aside again with an annoyed sigh and grabbed at Stiles, pulling him up onto the couch and plopping him onto his lap, petting him with one hand while the other held the book up so he could keep reading.

Okay, that hadn’t gone as planned. Derek thought he just wanted attention.

Which he did, just not this kind.

That was fine. This was okay. It was just his first night, he could try again later.

Derek was smart, he’d figure it out, Stiles was sure of it.

* * *

_Captain’s log: It has been three days since I have become Derek’s unintentional pet, and I am beginning to question his intelligence._

Derek was the stupidest person Stiles had ever met and he wanted to bite his face off.

He was trying to be patient with him, he really was, but it was _difficult_  because he felt like Derek was purposefully avoiding figuring out Stiles was his fox—whom he’d named Red, because Derek was super original like that.

The first night he’d forgiven him. It had been a long day for both of them, they were tired, so he just let it go and when Derek went to bed carrying him upstairs, Stiles just curled up on the end of the bed and avoided staring at Derek while he changed and took a shower because _wow_  Derek looked good.

Like, Stiles had always known Derek looked good, he was a good looking guy and everything, but he looked _really_  good now. He was older, obviously, and more rugged and his muscles were all toned and perfect, and he had _chest hair_ and just, wow. Stiles was seriously interested, except not, because this was Derek and he didn’t have a death wish.

They’d gone to bed, Derek not seeming to mind Stiles sleeping at the end of it, but it got cold during the night. Derek was a Werewolf, which meant he ran hotter than most, so he always slept with the window open—something Stiles knew just because he knew Derek and not because he was currently in his bed.

Stiles was not a Werewolf, and while he currently had fur, he was fucking _freezing_  and he didn’t want to end up a foxsicle. He didn’t know if this would be okay, but he carefully and hesitantly stood and made his way to the top of the bed, then crawled under the covers. Derek had woken up, but he’d just grunted something and rolled onto his back, pulling Stiles onto his chest beneath the blankets and petting him gently before falling asleep again, hands resting on him loosely.

The next day, he’d gone out to look for Stiles—hah! Irony!—and Stiles had spent the day trying to find ways to show Derek who he was. He’d found some flour in the pantry and had apologized internally before ripping through the paper bag and dumping it all over the floor. He’d then proceeded to write ‘I AM STILES’ in the flour with one paw. He’d even jumped up onto the table to make sure it was _clearly legible_ , and then had waited for Derek to come home.

And come home he had, annoyed at the mess and stepping through the message, despite Stiles’ internal dismayed _No! Derek!_

Stiles’ nose was shoved into the mess and he was reprimanded. He had to wonder if Derek was mistaking him for a dog, but he decided the flour wasn’t going to work a second time so he’d have to find something else.

Attempt two the day after had been shaving cream in the bathroom. Derek had thrown his hands up in exasperation and immediately cleaned up the mess _without even looking at it_ and Stiles was once again reprimanded.

Day three was his last attempt, because he worried Derek would get rid of him. He’d found some paint in the garage—feeling like Derek should have wondered _how_  Stiles had gotten into the garage but _he hadn’t_ because he was a giant _dumb-dumb_ —and used one paw to write out his message on the ground. It was messy, but legible, and he just hid out of sight somewhere until Derek came home to be _sure_  that he saw it.

And he eventually did, cursing and getting on his hands and knees with paint thinner to get rid of it, but he somehow _still_  couldn’t read it! Stiles had to wonder if maybe he was writing in fox or something. Maybe it _looked_  like it said “I am Stiles” to him but actually was just some weird fox dialect that meant _nothing_  to Derek.

When he’d finished cleaning that up, Derek had sniffed him out—so apparently his nose worked—and then he’d been locked in the laundry room for the night with water, his dinner and the litter box.

Stiles was sad, and lonely, and he curled up into a ball behind the door at the corner, hating this entire thing and wishing he’d stayed on the couch that one day. He knew he had to stop, though. Derek was getting really mad, and nothing he did seemed to be working, so he just resigned himself to being a fox for the rest of his life and hung out behind the door.

He fell asleep, despite thinking he wouldn’t because the floor was cold. He woke with a start when the door was inched open and while he wasn’t sure what time it was, he knew it wasn’t morning yet, because the small window in the room showed it was still dark out.

Derek poked his head in, looking around for him, and finally settled darkened eyes on him wedged behind the door. He sighed and stepped into the room, crouching in front of him.

“Why are you misbehaving like this? What brought this on? You’ve never been like this before.”

Before? Before what? Derek had literally had him for three and a half days, what could he possibly be comparing him to?

“Are you gonna be good? It’s hard sleeping without you. Come on.” He held his arms open, crouched in front of him.

Stiles hesitated, but eventually stood and wandered over to him, jumping slightly like he was going to leap at Derek. The Werewolf caught him, pulling him tightly to his chest and stood, wandering back out of the laundry room and towards the stairs.

They were in his bedroom in seconds, Derek lying on his back with Stiles on his bare chest, and the blanket pulled up over him. He was petting him lightly beneath the covers, letting out a small sigh.

“I miss him too, you know,” Derek said quietly. “I’m trying. I promise I’m trying. We’re gonna find him, Red. He’s out there, and we’re gonna find him.”

Was he talking about Stiles? Because Stiles and the fox had never overlapped, so that was a weird thing for him to say. It wasn’t like he was acting out because he missed Stiles—which would be hard, considering _he was Stiles_ , but still. Derek was being all weird. He’d been weird for a few days, if he was honest.

Something to worry about in the morning, he supposed. He’d stop trying to destroy Derek’s house, at least for a little while, just until he cemented his place in his home and wouldn’t get kicked out.

Then he’d try again.

* * *

_Captain’s log: It is now day one of week four of being a fox, and my friends are the worst._

The next pack meeting took place at Derek’s, because he had the biggest living room. Everyone showed up, murmuring and speaking amongst themselves worriedly. Some of them were inspecting Derek’s wall, others were picking up and putting down his various books.

Stiles just sat grumpily on the arm-rest of the couch, because he was in a room full of Werewolves and not _one of them_ could tell it was him.

Scott fell onto the couch beside him, Stiles turning to glare at him, and was a little surprised to see him smiling.

“Hey Red.” He reached out and pet Stiles a few times, then picked him up and plopped him on his lap, petting him from head to tail. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. You been keeping Derek out of trouble while Stiles has been gone?”

“You seem awfully chipper for someone whose best friend is missing,” Lydia said dryly, sitting beside him and reaching out to lightly pet Stiles as well.

“He’s still alive out there,” Scott insisted, smiling a little. “Deaton keeps checking, and so long as Stiles is alive, there’s hope.”

“Hm,” Lydia said in response, then frowned. “Derek, you need to cut back on the food for Red, he’s getting a little chubby.”

“He’s not getting chubby,” Derek insisted curtly, moving to grab Stiles from Scott’s lap and holding him in his arms.

Stiles had learned early on that Derek really liked having him close. He always carried him around, or put him in his lap, or made sure he was within arm’s reach. He’d even started bringing Stiles out with him when he did his rounds, searching for Stiles in the Preserve.

Sadly, Stiles had noticed him come home with a leash the day before, and he just _knew_  he was going to find himself wearing a collar and a leash soon. And not even in a kinky way, which was disappointing.

At least he could make jokes about it with Derek when he was human again.

_If_ he was ever human again.

When Derek took a seat in his armchair—sitting on a huge stack of papers because, really, it was impossible not to—he held Stiles in his arms, scratching lightly at his chin and eying the rest of the pack, who all looked uncomfortable being there.

Stiles didn’t get it, because they often had meetings at Derek’s since he had the largest area to accommodate everyone. Though he _did_  notice no one was speaking to him, they were all kind of leaving him alone in his armchair with Stiles.

That was weird. Stiles didn’t remember people leaving him in peace before, though Stiles was generally hounding him about his lack of snacks so maybe he just talked too much to notice.

After a few moments, Scott stood up with a sigh and started talking about the next course of action. He referenced a few things Stiles didn’t understand that they’d already tried, and turned to Derek every time he asked about them, because apparently he didn’t know about them, either.

Which was weird.

Because yes, Derek wasn’t in the pack, but he was always kept apprised of things. He always knew things when they had pack meetings, he’d never asked this many questions before. Stiles didn’t understand why he was so far behind on the plan.

Scott awkwardly explained a few things to him, and when they were all on the same page again, he continued.

“Deaton says he’s close to finding his warlock friend, so once he’s here, we can try the summoning thing Deaton talked about and—”

“What summoning?” Derek interrupted.

Scott turned to him, looking uncomfortable again, and a little confused. “Um, Deaton said—were you not paying attention during that meeting, or...?”

“What meeting?” Derek bit out.

The Alpha stared at him for a few seconds, then instead replied to his first inquiry. Stiles wasn’t happy about how out of the loop Derek seemed to be.

“There’s this spell that Warlocks can do,” Scott said. “It kind of... it leads people to a missing person. Even if they’re invisible, or buried, or _wrong_  in some way. It finds them, so we can just follow it right to Stiles.”

“Why hasn’t Deaton tried that?” Derek asked, tone curt and frustrated. That usually led to him squeezing Stiles too tightly and he let out a small whine. Derek instantly loosened his grip, looking down at him with concern before petting him gently once more with one hand, the other still wrapped around him.

“Like he said, he can’t.”

“I wasn’t there when you discussed this,” Derek snapped. “Why can’t he do it?”

“Oh.” Scott cast a look at Lydia, then explained that it wasn’t something a Druid could do, it was specifically Warlock magic, which was different and couldn’t be recreated.

Stiles watched the exchange between Derek and Scott, more than a little confused, and as the night progressed and they continued to reference things Derek needed clarified, Stiles felt his stomach drop and instantly hated that he was a fox.

Well, more than usual, anyway.

Derek was accidentally being left out of the loop.

When something happened, or people did things and had meetings and whatnot, they didn’t include Derek. They just talked amongst themselves and seemed to think Derek should just _know_  these things. And Stiles realized that, normally, Derek _did_  know these things.

Because Stiles told him.

Stiles was the bridge between the pack and Derek. Stiles was the one who kept him involved in things, who kept him up to date, who made sure when they had meetings that Derek was invited and around and _aware_.

_Stiles_  was the reason Derek knew anything that was ever going on. And because Stiles wasn’t there—technically—everyone just kept assuming Derek knew things because they’d never had to keep him in the loop before.

Hell, Stiles wondered how many pack meetings they’d had since he was gone _without_  inviting Derek. He didn’t think they’d do it on purpose, but it was almost like they didn’t even _think_  about him. Like Derek was just one with the furniture most of the time. The only reason he was present for this meeting was because _Derek_  had called it, and it was at _his_  house.

For all Stiles knew, Derek had missed many pack meetings, where all these other discussions were taking place.

They didn’t think about Derek at all. They didn’t...

_They don’t care about Derek._ It was like a stab right in the heart, Stiles turning to look up at Derek’s closed off expression while he listened to the others speak. _They don’t care about Derek at all. He’s just a lone wolf who helps out every now and then, but the only reason he’s involved in the pack at all is because of me._

He hadn’t really thought about it at first, but now that he’d come to this realization, it occurred to him that Derek’s phone never went off with text messages. Whenever it rang, it was people calling him about work.

No one visited him. No one called him. No one texted him.

Derek was all alone here, and the only person who’d ever shown him any level of friendship, any level of actually _caring_  about him, was Stiles.

And that was _devastating_ , because it explained so much. It explained why Derek was always so mad at him when he did something stupid. Why Derek had reacted the way he had when the Witch had died. Why Derek had looked like he was broken when he was sitting in the Camaro. Why Derek’s living room looked like an obsessed stalker’s basement. Why Derek was so desperate to find him.

Derek had alluded to the fact that he couldn’t lose anyone in the pack, because he couldn’t come back from that.

Stiles hadn’t realized that it was mostly _one_  person.

And that it was him.

He lost track of the conversation then, because he spent most of the rest of the meeting just feeling guilty for having grabbed at the Witch. If he hadn’t grabbed her, he wouldn’t have disappeared with her, and he wouldn’t be a fox right now. Derek would still have him, and he wouldn’t be so alone.

It certainly explained why he kept fox Stiles so close. He was lonely, and desperate for some company, and while the fox couldn’t talk back, at least he was _there_. And God, Stiles hadn’t known. He hadn’t realized no one else took the time to contact him, to go out with him, to be his _friend_. Stiles hadn’t known he was the only one who made an effort.

He started when Derek suddenly stood and turned to look at the pack, realizing they were all beginning to leave. They’d obviously concluded their meeting, and would be heading home, now. He wondered what they would do while they waited for the Warlock.

Hopefully the guy would show up soon, Stiles really didn’t like being on four legs.

He was carried to the front door, Derek following the others to the entrance. They all pulled on their shoes while speaking to one another, slowly filing out, waving goodbye over their shoulders.

Scott was the last to go, and he turned to Derek awkwardly on the porch, hands in his pockets.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t... I just assumed you knew all this stuff,” Scott said.

“Stiles used to keep me informed,” Derek told him, not unkindly, but very pointedly.

“Right. I should’ve—right. I’ll uh, try and remember to keep you in the loop. Use the group chat instead of just individual texting like we normally do.”

Derek didn’t say anything and Scott nodded awkwardly, said goodbye, and turned to leave. Derek shut the door before he’d even reached the bottom of the porch steps.

Returning to the living room, Derek set Stiles down on the couch and wandered over to the wall, staring at it. Stiles sat down on a few pieces of paper and watched him, eyes following all the clues he’d picked up and wondering if anything on the wall would help him with the whole ‘Stiles got turned into a fox’ thing.

He jumped, startled, when Derek’s fist suddenly imbedded itself into the wall, wood and plaster broken from the force of his punch. He pulled his hand out, leaving behind a rather large hole, and then punched it again.

Stiles didn’t know what to do, so he just sat there and watched Derek punch repeatedly at the same spot until his arm went clean through the wall and into the neighbouring room. He was breathing hard, and when he pulled his hand back out, there was blood on his arm and knuckles, but the wounds were long gone.

Turning, Derek slid to the ground, knees bent and palms pressing hard into his eyes.

“Stiles, you _idiot_. You fucking stupid piece of shit. How could you do this to me?”

Stiles jumped off the couch and hurried over to Derek, crawling up onto his lap and nuzzling against his chest, his heart clenching.

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Derek. I didn’t—I was just trying to help. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry. Please, I’m right here. I didn’t leave you, I’m right here. I’m sorry._

What if he never turned human again? What if Derek never knew this was him? What if everyone in his life just thought he was dead?

And worse: what if they didn’t?

What if that Warlock didn’t find him? What if they all just kept doing the spell that showed he was alive, and they all just killed themselves looking for him? Fuck, he had no idea what his dad was doing right now, it had been weeks since he’d seen him, because he had no reason to come by so when Stiles had finally been found two weeks after his capture, he had no reason at all to see his dad.

Derek had shifted so he could hug Stiles tightly to his chest, and while it hurt, he didn’t whine this time. Derek was obviously a little distraught, and it killed Stiles to know that he just buried these feelings deep until he was sure no one would see them. Was it really so bad for people to know he had emotions?

To Derek, probably. People with emotions were easier to hurt.

Stiles heard Derek’s phone vibrating, but he was positive he would ignore it. He was kind of falling apart, he’d earned the right to ignore it.

Surprisingly, he didn’t. He took a deep breath, let go of Stiles with one arm, and reached into his pocket for his phone, answering it.

“This is Derek,” he said, evidently because the number hadn’t been familiar.

Stiles listened in only for a few seconds until he determined it was just a work call, then he tuned it out. Derek was polite, and sounded normal while on the call, which was a weird contrast to the broken expression on his face while he held Stiles to his chest.

After about five minutes, he confirmed that he’d get the piece done on time and then hung up, bringing his phone down and staring at it.

Stiles turned to look at it, as well, and started at what he found.

Derek’s lock-screen was a picture of him and Stiles.

Well, if he was being specific, it was a picture of the original pack, with him, Lydia, Scott and Derek. But it was cropped on the phone so that it was just Stiles and Derek showing, Stiles’ arm thrown over Derek’s shoulders and grinning into the camera.

Derek was in the middle of rolling his eyes, arms crossed and looking exasperated, like he didn’t understand the point of this group photo.

Why was he Derek’s lock-screen?

“I’m gonna find you,” Derek said, Stiles turning back to look at him. He was staring down at his phone, expression set. “I’m going to _find_  you, Stiles. I’m gonna get you back.”

Stiles glanced at the phone again, and Derek’s thumb brushing against his picture softly.

_Holy shit. Derek’s in love with me!_

* * *

_Captain’s log: It is now day twenty-two of being a fox, and I’m very uncomfortable with how much I now know about Derek without his permission._

Stiles slept in the following day. Not on purpose, but because his brain was still reeling over what he’d figured out the night before. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and had passed out only when the sun was rising. Derek had woken him up when he’d climbed out of bed, carrying Stiles with him to the kitchen, but once he was set down, Stiles just went back up to the bedroom and buried himself under the covers, going back to sleep.

He woke a few hours later, wandering back downstairs with his stomach growling and his joints aching. He recited all of his human side mantra, like he’d been doing for the past few weeks, and was relieved to find he was still human.

Derek was still in the kitchen when he wandered in, typing away on his laptop. He looked like shit, and it seemed what he was working on was the _last_  thing he wanted to be doing right then, but he had a job, and he’d obviously said he’d have a piece done for a specific date. Derek hadn’t exactly been working much since Stiles had been living with him, so it made sense he’d be behind.

Stiles sat down by his foot, staring up at him, and Derek seemed to notice he was there after a few seconds. He stood and went to get him some food—he was apparently lazy today, because it was just some pre-shredded chicken. He shoved it in the microwave for ten seconds and then set it down on the floor before wandering back to the table.

Stiles ate it up, missing real food, but at least knowing he was eating healthy for the moment. Usually he got fruits, vegetables and chicken, but occasionally Derek would toss him some bacon or some chips. Stiles missed cheese the most, though. God, what he wouldn’t do for some cheese.

And chocolate. Fuck man, cheese and chocolate. His life’s blood.

When he was done, he wandered back over to Derek and sat beside him again. He wanted to jump up onto his lap, but he was sitting too close to the table.

It took longer for Derek to notice him this time, but he eventually did and he pulled his chair out before bending down and setting Stiles in his lap. He curled up into a ball and got comfortable, listening to the steady tapping of Derek’s fingers on the keyboard of his laptop.

His mind went back to the realization he’d had the previous night. Of course, he didn’t know _for sure_ that Derek was in love with him, but it certainly explained a lot of things. And really, why else was Stiles his lock screen? Sure, they were friends, but that was a little more personal, in Stiles’ opinion.

And even he’d noticed that they’d been getting closer, of late. He’d always thought it was just Derek used to Stiles after years of exposure, like Scott, but maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe Derek had always liked him, and had never acted on it, and was now slowly but surely letting Stiles chip away at his resolve.

Actually, it explained a lot about their outings when Derek was his wingman. Derek was always _behind_  Stiles when he was trying to score, and people always seemed interested at first before suddenly getting all weird and nervous and hurrying off.

What if Derek was behind him making dangerous expressions? Or flashing his eyes? Or just staring people down in a ‘get away from him _now_ ’ kind of way?

But if he liked him, why hadn’t he _said_  anything? Stiles was very clearly interested, because Derek was amazing and awesome and even if he was a grouchy sourwolf most of the time, Stiles really liked him. They had a good thing going. So if he was interested, why didn’t he say anything?

Though... he _had_  explained why. Because everyone he slept with died or went evil. But that shouldn’t work with Stiles. Because for one thing, he’d already _been_  evil, and for another, he was _Stiles_. He was different. They were pack.

Well, kind of.

No, they were pack. Stiles and Derek were pack. And Stiles and the McCall pack were pack.

Stiles had two packs, okay! It was a thing! It could happen!

Derek paused in his writing when his phone began to ring and Stiles’ ear twitched when he answered and Scott’s voice came down the line.

_“Hey Derek. Sorry to call, I didn’t know who else to talk to about this, and I didn’t... I was just...”_

“What is it, Scott?” Derek asked when Scott trailed off.

_“Stiles’ rent is due in a few days. His dad says he has enough in the bank to pay it off, but money’s tight for him, and he hasn’t been able to gain access to Stiles’ account. We all want to chip in to help, but I know... You know... about uh, you know, you, and-and...”_

_Oh Scott, you’re such a nice guy, but also a dick._

They all knew Derek was loaded. He had money from multiple sources, not just work. There was the life insurance policy from his parents, the money Peter had hidden away, money Peter himself sent back from wherever he was every now and then to both Derek _and_  Malia.

Derek was loaded.

“When’s it due?”

_“Three days.”_

“I’ll take care of it.”

_“We can all chip in, that wasn’t—”_

“Scott,” Derek interrupted. “I’ll take care of it. Tell his dad it’s fine. I’ve got it.” Derek hung up.

He dropped his phone on the table, then rubbed his face with both hands, letting out a sigh. He glanced down at Stiles, smiling tightly, and pet his head a few times. Stiles just stared at him, wondering if Derek was actually going to pay his rent for him.

Well, even if he did, Stiles would pay him back. Though he worried. Because how long would he be a fox? How long would Derek pay his rent in the hopes that Stiles would come back? How much was everyone going to suffer because he’d been stupid enough to grab at the Witch?

He curled in on himself, feeling miserable and guilty when Derek went back to typing on his laptop. Evidently he had time, so he likely wasn’t going to rush with the payment. Derek had to get his piece finished.

Stiles ended up falling asleep, but jolted awake when Derek shifted the chair back. Derek let out a small laugh, picking him up while he blinked sleepily at him and carried Stiles in one arm while heading to the fridge for some food. Probably dinner, given Stiles had woken up late.

“You’re starting to smell, you need a bath,” Derek informed him, perusing the fridge’s contents while Stiles groaned and lowered his ears, trying to look pathetic.

It wasn’t that he had a problem with being clean, it was more that it was weird and embarrassing getting a bath. To date he’d only gotten one from Deaton. Stiles figured he’d been with Derek for about ten days, so it made sense he’d want to clean him up. Wasn’t like Stiles tended to his hygiene as a fox, because he had limits. The mice and worms had already crossed a line for him, no way was he going to lick himself clean like a fucking animal.

He had _limits_!

Derek set him on the counter while pulling food out and began getting to work making his dinner. It seemed to be pretty mediocre today, and Stiles figured he didn’t have the energy for it. He just made himself some roasted potatoes, seasoned chicken and some boiled carrots. It was obvious he just wasn’t in the mood today.

When he was finished, he piled up a plate for himself before setting it down on the table, then took a few potatoes, which he cut up into smaller pieces before he stuck them in the freezer for about a minute. Stiles didn’t understand at first, but when Derek pulled them out and checked them with his finger, he turned and put them into Stiles’ bowl.

Stiles perked right up then, because he realized Derek had just been making sure he wouldn’t burn himself, and he excitedly leapt off the counter and gobbled them up. God, potatoes were good. He missed potatoes.

Okay really, at this point, he missed virtually everything, but at least Derek indulged him every now and then.

He went to the chair beside Derek’s and hopped up onto it, sitting down and watching him eat while he browsed things on the online Beastiary. Mealtimes were probably the only break he allowed himself right now, and Stiles hoped he finished his piece soon because Derek looked stressed to the max.

When he was finished dinner, he set everything down in the sink and then grabbed Stiles. He expected him to just sit back down with him in his lap, but alas, they headed for the stairs and Stiles tried to make himself look pathetic again, whining and flattening his ears, staring up pathetically at Derek.

“You need a bath,” he argued, poking at Stiles’ nose with one finger. “You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”

_Doubt it,_ he thought miserably.

Derek was smart, because he kept Stiles in his arms while he went about grabbing what he needed, including two spare towels, the animal shampoo he’d bought at some point from PetSmart, and a small brush. Once they were in the bathroom, he shut the door.

No escape.

Derek ran the tub while seated on the edge, Stiles in his lap and trying not to look as pathetic as he felt.

This was humiliating. Derek was about to give him a fucking bath.

When the tub was filled a little ways, Derek set him down in it while leaving the water running, and then pulled off his shirt. Stiles did his best not to stare, but seriously, Derek was a fucking perfect specimen. It _had_  to be a Werewolf thing, and it was unfair.

Un. Fair.

Who’d decided that Werewolves got to be fucking smoking hot, strong, _and_  have superpowers? Stiles wanted to have a word with that asshole because it was super unfair.

Derek bent down so he was on his knees outside the tub and then grabbed the extendable showerhead, switching the water’s output from the spout to the shower. Stiles made a face when he was watered down, feeling gross and heavy now because of his fur. Derek only passed the water over him enough to make sure his fur was wet, then turned it off and grabbed the shampoo, beginning to lather it into his fur and being sure to watch his eyes.

“You’re so ridiculous,” Derek said with a small, endearing smile. “You hate bath time, but the second you’re in the tub, you just stand there and let me clean you up. Considering, I always feel like you should be a little shit when I’m bathing you.”

_Yes, yes, I’m the best and you love me. Shut up and keep cleaning so I can get out of here._

Totally fucking humiliating.

Stiles let Derek manhandle him however he needed to, lifting him up every now and then with one hand so he could clean his belly and then down his tail. Stiles was sad to see the puffy thing when it was wet, because it got all weird and rat-like. It was much cuter when it was full and fluffy.

When he was covered in suds, Derek turned the water back on and rinsed his hands, then grabbed the showerhead once more and helped cover Stiles’ eyes while he rinsed him off, running his free hand along his back to ensure all the suds were gone. He kept the water on him for a bit longer this time, and when he was satisfied he was clean, he turned the water off and unplugged the tub.

“See? All done. Good boy.” He patted Stiles’ head.

_If you hadn’t literally just given me potatoes, Derek, I would’ve bitten you by now. You’re lucky I’m in love with you, you giant, loveable ape._

Derek had turned away from him to grab one of the towel and he used it to dry Stiles off as much as possible. Then he grabbed the second towel and wrapped Stiles up in it tightly enough that he literally couldn’t move. Then he pulled him to his chest and left the bathroom to head back down to the kitchen.

He was still shirtless, but Stiles figured he was waiting for him to dry off a bit more before cleaning up, which he appreciated, because _wow_  was it ever cold! It had been the same way with Deaton’s bath, because he was fucking freezing the second he’d been cleaned. He figured his fur usually helped keep most of the heat in, and when he was wet it did its job less well.

Thankfully he was pressed against a nice, warm Werewolf chest, so while he was cold even in the towel, he wasn’t _too_  bad and he knew he’d dry off soon.

Derek just went back to browsing the Beastiary while holding Stiles in one arm, still wrapped up in the towel. He kept him like that for a good five minutes, but when Stiles began to squirm, Derek finally let him free and he leapt to the ground. He shivered once, because it was still cold, but he was much drier and his tail didn’t look as gross anymore.

Patting his head once, Derek left the kitchen and Stiles followed him, heading back upstairs. Derek pulled his shirt back on and then cleaned up the bathroom before heading for the laundry machine and shoving the towels into it. Then he picked Stiles back up and went to the living room. He dropped Stiles on the couch, and the only reason he didn’t follow him back out of the room was because Derek was obviously coming back.

Which he did, a minute later. He had his laptop and a small throw blanket, sitting on the couch and setting the blanket on his lap. It was folded over and he opened it a bit before motioning Stiles over. Once he’d settled on the blanket, Derek folded it back over him so only his head poked out, then balanced the laptop on his knees, feet up on the coffee table.

Stiles watched him work for a few more minutes, then got bored and decided to nap again.

Though he had to admit, while being a fox sucked, he wouldn’t hate being stuck with Derek like this forever. At least Derek really liked him and, if nothing else, Stiles would make sure Derek was never alone.

* * *

_Captain’s log: Day twenty-three of being a fox has now commenced. When I find the person who created leashes, I am going to bite them in the ankle._

Derek was already up when Stiles woke up the next day. That worried him a little, because he hadn’t heard him get up and considering all the sleeping he’d been doing lately, he really should’ve woken up. Thankfully, Derek seemed to have _just_  gotten up because Stiles could hear him in the shower.

And it sounded like he was jerking off, which he wasn’t going to listen in on because that was crossing a line for _sure_. So he just quickly leapt off the bed while Derek moaned in the bathroom and squeezed through the cracked door to head down to use the little box.

He was never going to get over the fact that he had to use the fucking litter box. He hoped Derek followed Deaton’s advice and just cordoned off a part of the backyard for him instead, that definitely hurt his pride less.

Stiles was waiting for Derek on the counter when he entered the kitchen, and Derek smiled before petting him, kissing the top of his head once and then going to the fridge.

The kissing his head thing was new, but Stiles didn’t dwell on it. He just watched Derek pull out some items to make his breakfast, dropping some fruits and vegetables into Stiles’ bowl for him before he got started.

After breakfast, it was back to the table with his laptop and Stiles in his lap, working away at his piece. He’d finished it the night before, as far as Stiles could tell, but evidently hadn’t been happy with it because he spent a better part of the morning redoing it.

Eventually, he stretched, Stiles peeking open one eye to look up at him. Derek smiled slightly, one hand falling onto his head and sliding down his back.

“I should head out to pay Stiles’ rent. Feel like going for a drive with me, Red? Maybe we can go for a run when we get back. Clear our heads a little bit.”

He picked Stiles up and headed for the door with him in his arms. Stiles let out a soft growling noise when the dreaded collar and leash were finally pulled out, but Derek just shushed him and set him down on the floor.

It was hard to be obedient while Derek got the collar on him, but he managed not to bite him. He knew Derek was just scared he’d run off on him, so he tried to bear it, though he was definitely going to work on his “I am Stiles” plan again when they got back.

Clipping the leash to the end of the collar, Derek picked him up and left the house, locking the door behind him. He set him on his lap, like he always did, once he was in the car and buckled in, and began to drive to Stiles’ apartment.

Derek parked his Camaro in the back right beside Stiles’ Jeep. He figured someone must’ve driven it back here, and it hurt his chest a little to see it. He missed his dad. A lot.

He also really hoped someone had noticed the groceries or he was never going to get the smell of rotting eggs and soured milk out of his car.

Derek climbed out and walked around the front of the building, pushing open the door to the bakery.

“Sorry, we can’t have animals in here,” the cashier said immediately upon spotting him. “It’s a food safety hazzard.”

“Right. Right, sorry.” Derek stepped back out of the store and looked around. He set Stiles down beside a lamp post and it seemed to take considerable effort for him to actually tie him up and leave him there. He actually stood beside him for a long while, staring down at him, as if worried he’d disappear once Derek was out of sight.

Eventually, he bent down once more. “If someone tries to take you, kick up the biggest fuss you can, understand? I can’t lose you, too.”

Stiles just let out a yip, and while he was sure Derek didn’t assume he could understand, Stiles definitely _wasn’t_  going to let _anyone_  take him! He would’ve kicked up a fuss whether Derek said anything or not.

Derek watched him nervously on his way back to the door, but he seemed satisfied when he realized he could angle himself a certain way and still see Stiles through the window.

_“Hi there. Sorry about that, I have him around all the time.”_

_“That’s okay,”_  the cashier said with a kind smile. _“He’s super cute. What’s his name?”_

_“Red.”_

_“Adorable.”_

Yes, yes. Stiles was adorable. Why didn’t people think so when he was human?

_“Sorry, don’t mean to gush, but you don’t often see foxes as pets. What can I do for you?”_

_“Actually, I was hoping I could speak to the owner. I’m, uh, I’m a friend of Stiles’. I just wanted to come by and pay his rent.”_

_“Oh,”_  the cashier said, voice soft and a little sad. _“I heard about what happened. I always thought Beacon Hills was a safe place to live, but with all the crazy stuff happening lately, I’m starting to re-think that. Is he—I mean, are there any leads, or—”_

_“No,”_  Derek said, tone a little harsher than Stiles was sure he meant for it to be. _“No, there’s no—we haven’t heard of anything. We’re still looking.”_

_“Stiles is a good guy. I really hope he’s okay.”_  She started to reach out to touch his hand, then seemed to think better of it and pulled it back. _“I’ll get the owner.”_

_“Thank you.”_

Stiles wondered what people had been told about him. Of course they had to say _something_  about his sudden disappearance, but he wondered what it was. Did they say he was kidnapped? Or that he was just missing? Or that he was ill? Probably not the last one, considering Derek’s words, so he was going to go with either kidnapped or missing.

Missing seemed the most likely, really.

“Hello there.”

Stiles jumped, not having heard anyone approach, and when he glanced up, he felt his heart shatter.

_Dad, dad, dad! Dad! Oh my God, Dad!_

He immediately tried to jump up, but the leash kept him close to the lamp post. He strained against the collar, but thankfully his dad just smiled, the action not reaching his eyes, and he bent down, petting Stiles’ head a few times.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing. Must be Derek’s. Red, right? I remember hearing about you, but never got the chance to meet you.”

_Dad, it’s me! It’s Stiles! Dad, **please**! Please recognize me! _

Stiles nuzzled and pawed at his dad, trying to get closer, feeling his chest ache because it was _him_ , it was his _dad_ , and God, he looked _terrible_! He looked broken and defeated and like he hadn’t been sleeping and Stiles had done that to him. Stiles had ruined everything for everyone when he’d grabbed for the Witch. He shouldn’t have done that, he should’ve waited with the others, they would’ve eventually found a way to stop her. He knew they would have, because eventually they _did_. The others had come, and if he’d just _waited_ , this wouldn’t be happening.

His dad kept petting him, then reached forward and unclipped his leash, being sure to keep a tight grip on him. He pulled him up into his arms, straightening, and kept petting him while Stiles squirmed in his arms, rubbing against his chest and neck. God, he missed him. He missed his dad so much. He was so happy he was here, but also heartbroken because his dad was so worried and Stiles was _sorry_ , he was so sorry.

“Hey! Let him go!”

His dad jumped and turned, and Stiles saw Derek’s expression shift from anger to confusion.

“Sheriff? I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s all right, son.” His dad kept petting Stiles, still holding him in his arms. “Just getting acquainted with Red, here. Beautiful little thing.”

“Yeah.” Derek was shifting his weight uncomfortably, inching closer. It looked like he wasn’t happy about someone else holding Stiles.

Actually, his dad wasn’t usually big on holding animals, so it was kind of weird he’d picked him up to begin with. Petting him, sure, no problem, but holding him? That was actually a bit out of character.

“Scott told me you’d be coming by. Parrish saw your Camaro a few minutes ago,” the sheriff said, still petting Stiles’ head lightly with two fingers. “You didn’t need to do this, son.”

“I wanted to help.”

“You’re helping plenty,” the older man insisted, letting out a shaky sigh. “Deaton says he’s-he’s still trying to get in touch with his friend. Says it’s taking longer than anticipated. But that Stiles is still alive out there.” He tightened his hold on Stiles and, really, people needed to stop trying to crush him.

The only reason he stayed quiet was because this was his _dad_ , and Derek looked ready to wrench him from his arms at any second. And he didn’t want to lose what little time he had with him right now, so he just forced himself not to make a sound.

“We’re gonna find him,” Derek said softly. “We will. He’s out there, and we’ll find him.”

_You **already**  found me! I seriously don’t know how much more stupid I can handle right now._ Stiles let out a small sigh, really wishing he could text or write or something.

Maybe the next time Derek put his phone down he could try and text him.

“I know we will. Stiles is a tough kid, he’ll be fine.”

Derek nodded. It seemed he’d reached his limit for someone else holding Stiles because he moved forward and reached out for him. At first, it looked like his dad wouldn’t give him up, but eventually he slowly pulled him away from his chest and handed him over to Derek. He grabbed him quickly, clutching him tightly, and nodded to the sheriff.

“I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Thanks, son. And for this, too.”

“I did it for Stiles.”

“I know.” He patted Derek’s shoulder once, pet Stiles’ head one last time, then turned to head back for the cruiser parked down the road.

Stiles glanced up at Derek, then at the bag hanging from his wrist. He’d probably bought some more raisin bread, he was likely going into withdrawal, at this point, without Stiles around to get him his fix.

Derek bent down to undo the leash from around the lamp post, then headed around the back of the building once more to climb back into the Camaro. He dropped the leash and raisin bread onto the passenger seat, but kept Stiles on his lap.

“I thought I told you to kick up a fuss,” Derek muttered, pushing the key into the ignition. “I know the sheriff wasn’t going to run off with you, but _you_  didn’t know that. Stop trying to give me heart attacks.”

_Don’t worry, big guy. Much as I love dad, you’re the most well equipped at this point to take care of me._ He nuzzled against Derek’s chest, as if in apology, and Derek pet him lightly before pressing his hand to his back like he usually did when they were driving.

He drove them back to the house, hand on Stiles’ back the entire way, and then brought him inside with the raisin bread.

He sat on the couch in the living room, staring at the hole in the wall while munching on the bread. He hadn’t taken Stiles’ collar off yet, which was annoying, but he _did_  offer up a slice of bread, which Stiles happily ate because it was the closest thing to people food he’d had in weeks.

Derek ate almost half the loaf and Stiles was _really_  going to have to cut him back on the stuff when he was human again.

If he was human again.

When Derek finally went to put the loaf of bread away, Stiles waited in the living room for him and turned when he heard him approach before hastily looking away and lying down flat on the couch, bringing his paws over his eyes.

Derek was naked.

Derek was fucking completely and absolutely, positively _naked_!

_Why_  was he naked?! Was he trying to make Stiles suffer? Oh God, this was so bad. Could foxes get boners? He definitely did _not_  want to get a boner right now!

“What are you doing, silly thing,” Derek said with a small chuckle. He picked Stiles up, who resolutely kept his eyes closed. “Come on, let’s go for a run. Just remember, I’m faster than you, so don’t run off on me. I’m trusting you not to be a little shit.”

Stiles kept his eyes shut, listening to Derek open the back door and step outside. He was put down and Stiles resolutely kept his eyes closed because he didn’t know where Derek was. He tilted his head when he heard bones snapping and muscles tearing, and jumped when a wet nose poked him in the back.

Cautiously peeking open one eye, he sighed in relief when he found Derek beside him in his wolf form. At least he wasn’t fucking naked anymore.

_God_  Derek was gorgeous. Did he not know how gorgeous he was?

Actually, he totally did, it was why he got so grumpy when people hit on him. He hated being seen as a piece of meat, and Stiles always teased him about how he was never going to get a girlfriend if he didn’t stop being such a grumpy mofo.

“You seem to like me just fine,” Derek always said in response.

Made a lot of sense why, now.

Derek started for the woods, turning to glance at Stiles, as if to be sure he was keeping up.

Okay. So they were actually doing this. Going for a run in the woods. Made sense why Derek had kept the collar on him, now. If they got separated, at least people would realize Stiles was a pet and not game.

He ran a little faster to catch up to Derek, and then the two of them flew into the forest. It was actually really nice, having this kind of freedom. The house was big, and Stiles was fairly small, so it wasn’t like he didn’t have the ability to run around and stretch his legs, but there was just something really wonderful about the forest.

He could also jump higher as a fox, so that was fun, bounding over fallen trunks and various bushes. Being a fox could be fun sometimes, though he had to force his brain to a stop and remember he was human while out running because he didn’t want to lose himself to the fox. He still didn’t know if that was possible, but better safe than sorry.

Derek was behind him, snapping playfully at his heels, and Stiles felt himself grinning. He’d never wanted to be a Werewolf, but he felt like he could learn to appreciate turning into an animal. This was really fun.

It was very evident that Stiles was faster than Derek, despite his earlier words, because when he playfully danced out of reach of his snapping jaws and took off, he turned a few minutes later and found him nowhere in sight. That gave him pause and he slowed to a trot before stopping, looking around.

_Derek?_

He knew it was stupid to talk to Derek in his head, but it made him feel better. He took a few steps forward in the direction he’d come from, looking around, and heard branches snap to his left. Grinning again, he started bounding that way and instantly screeched to a halt when a fucking lynx just exploded from the foliage.

_Ah! Derek! Derek, Derek, Derek!_

Stiles slipped on the leaves underfoot, but felt that was the only thing that saved him from the jaws coming at him since the lynx leapt clear over him. He scrambled around, racing back the way he’d come, and did his best not to look back.

But he knew lynxes were fast. They were extremely fast, and Stiles was a human in a fox’s body, and he was not that fast, and oh God, he was going to get eaten!

_Derek! Where the fuck are you?!_

Stiles ducked under some foliage, the lynx yowling angrily but continuing to chase him. His eyes searched desperately for Derek but he couldn’t find him, and he was breathing too loudly, and his heart was beating so fast, and he was going to die out here because he’d gone for a fucking run and Jesus _Christ_!

He could feel the lynx closing in every time he abruptly changed directions, and he knew he wouldn’t outrun it for long. Eventually, he found a hollowed out tree trunk and figured that was his best bet. It was small, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d fit, but he knew for certain the lynx wouldn’t and it was catching up fast.

Detouring at the last possible moment, he gained himself an additional few seconds to fly into the hollowed out trunk, squeezing himself in desperately. He was almost all the way in when he felt something chomp on his back leg and he let out a loud cry. It came out as more of a screech from his throat, but he felt himself getting pulled back out and oh God, he was going to die. He was going to get eaten by a fucking lynx!

Oh God, oh _God_!

Pounding footsteps echoed through the forest and the teeth suddenly left him when a howl of rage reverberated off the trees. He could hear a commotion behind him but couldn’t turn because of how tightly he was wedged into the tree. He winced and just kept pushing himself in, back left leg useless and throbbing in agony. He got himself in as far as he could, breathing hard and whining at the pain.

Well, this had been fun, for all of two fucking seconds. He never wanted to turn into an animal again, this was the absolute _worst_.

He heard movement outside and cracking bones before Derek’s voice shouted, “Red! Red, are you in there?!”

Stiles tensed when the log he was in was ripped open, glancing up and seeing Derek staring down at him worriedly.

“Oh Jesus. Oh fuck, come here. It’s okay. It’s okay, Red.”

Stiles gritted his teeth and tried to hold back a whine when Derek pulled him out of the log, but he didn’t succeed. He was too scared to look at his leg.

Oh God, what if it was completely fucked? What if it was unusable?!

“Come on. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Derek was clutching him to his chest while he raced back through the woods, jumping over various shrubs and fallen over trees. He was moving extremely fast and Stiles clenched his eyes shut, each step jarring him in Derek’s arms and making his leg hurt even more.

They reached the house in record time and Derek slammed through the back door, setting Stiles carefully on the counter before rushing to grab clothes. He barely yanked on pants and a shirt, not even bothering with shoes, and then grabbed his keys, picking Stiles back up and rushing out the door with him.

Stiles wasn’t entirely sure he’d even locked it.

They were in the Camaro and Derek was speeding them away, likely breaking a few speed limits, but he didn’t seem to care, one hand pressed against Stiles’ back as always.

He could feel the pain beginning to lessen, and turned to look at Derek’s arm, watching him leech his pain. Even as a fox, Derek was always there for him when he was in pain. It was kind of nice. But also the worst.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Shit, Red, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m so stupid, I’m sorry.”

_Don’t beat yourself up so much, Christ, Derek. Yeah, it hurts, and it sucks, but it’s not like you knew a lynx was gonna try and make me its dinner._

Still. No more going out in the forest for Stiles. No thank you.

Derek slammed on the brakes a few minutes later and rushed out of the car, slamming the door but again not locking it. He rushed towards the back of the clinic and pounded on the door. It was still working hours, so really, he should’ve gone through the front, but Stiles supposed he was just used to going through the back.

One of the doors opened a minute later, Scott frowning out at him.

“Derek, what the he—”

“Red is hurt,” he blurted out, pushing past Scott. “I need to see Deaton, now.”

“Okay, calm down,” Scott insisted, though he looked extremely concerned. “Calm down, come on. Let’s get you in a room and I’ll grab him.”

Scott led them to one of the examination rooms in the back and then disappeared. Derek set Stiles down on the table, petting him with one hand and continuing to leech at his pain with the other.

Stiles was still too scared to look at the damage.

The door opened suddenly, startling him, and he turned to see Deaton rushing in, pulling gloves on.

“Where is he hurt? Let me see.” He pushed Derek aside and quickly began to examine the injury. “What happened?”

Derek looked like he was about to have a panic attack, but he managed to calmly explain what had happened while Deaton looked over the damage. He was nodding and prodding at the injury for a few seconds before turning to grab various items. When he told Derek to get out so he could work, all that earned him was flashed blue eyes and a growl, so he relegated Derek to a corner and got to work.

Stiles took back every horrible thing he’d ever said about vets.

But if he lost his leg, there would be hell to pay.

* * *

_Captain’s log: After four weeks of being a fox, you’d think I’d be used to all the shit that happens behind Derek’s closed doors. Turns out I’m wrong._

Stiles had to stay at the clinic for a few days while he healed up and got his bandages changed. It was weird and horrible and very lonely. Derek visited every day, pulling him from his cage and holding him gently for a few minutes every couple of hours. Scott came in at one point to chat and Stiles found out Derek was in the coffee shop down the street working, so he could be close to the clinic.

It seemed like things were steadily worsening for Derek, because he was still beside himself with worry over Stiles, stressing about work, and now completely freaked out about fox-Stiles. It also looked like he wasn’t sleeping, and it was something of a relief when Deaton said he could take him home three days later.

Thankfully, his leg was healing up nicely, but it was still bandaged and it still hurt like a bitch. Walking was now extremely hard, because it had taken ages for Stiles to get used to walking on _four_  legs, and now he had to walk on _three_. Luckily for him, Derek carried him a lot, and especially now, he often found himself in his arms being walked around from room to room.

Derek looked fucking gutted, and Stiles hated that, because it hadn’t been his fault. He worried this was just reaffirming to Derek that he couldn’t have nice things.

He loved Paige, and she died. He loved Kate, and she killed his family. He loved Jennifer, and she was insane and evil. He loved Stiles, and he disappeared. He loved Stiles as a fox, and he was injured.

Derek really didn’t have the best track record.

Stiles just made sure to be extra snuggly because, for one thing, this was Derek and he loved him—even if the jerkwad had never admitted to having the same feelings—and for another, it wasn’t his fault and snuggling him was the only way he could show him he wasn’t mad.

Because he wasn’t. He wasn’t mad.

Derek would always hold him tightly at night while falling asleep, as if worried he would disappear when he woke up. He seemed to have finished his piece for work, because he was back to searching for Stiles with a vengeance. The hole in the wall had been fixed and a new picture of Stiles had been taped overtop it.

He still drove around the Preserve, but less frequently than before. Like he was losing hope of finding Stiles in there.

Sometimes he went out on foot with Stiles in his arms. He never put him down, and any time they came across an animal, even if it was a fucking bunny, Derek would flash his eyes or let out a growl and the animal would scamper off in terror.

Derek was literally acting like Stiles—as a fox—was the last piece of sanity he had left. If he lost him, he would literally fall apart and Stiles didn’t want that. He wanted Derek to be okay. He wanted him to figure out he was Stiles.

That night, when Derek fell asleep, Stiles wiggled free from him and went to his phone, using his nose to bring it out of sleep mode. He’d seen Derek type his password in enough times that he knew what it was, though it took him a few tries to get it right since his nose was quite a bit larger than a finger.

Once he finally got it to work, he went to the messages and opened the group chat. It looked like it hadn’t had a new message since Derek’s comment for Stiles to wait back before he’d gone missing.

People really _didn’t_  include Derek in the chat, which was really sad and he was going to bitch everyone out when he was human again.

_If_ he was human again.

It was getting depressing thinking that all the time.

It was infuriatingly slow, typing out his message, but he finally got it completed and leaned back to check it for typos.

He couldn’t possibly be _any_  clearer and he hit the send button.

**[Derek]**  
this is stiles. i am the fox. i am red. please stop being idiots. i am right here.

He stared down at the chat, waiting to see who would reply first. He didn’t know what day of the week it was, he’d kind of lost track, but the corner of Derek’s phone showed it was past two in the morning. Maybe Parrish?

Surprisingly, it was Lydia who replied.

**[Lydia]**  
??? Derek, are you okay?  
**[Lydia]**  
What the hell does that mean?

The buzzing phone woke up Derek, who shifted and promptly jerked upright, patting at his chest.

“Red?! Red!” He turned and let out a sigh, grabbing at Stiles and pulling him to his chest. “Fuck, don’t scare me like that.” He kissed Stiles’ head, something he’d started doing more frequently lately, and then leaned over to grab his phone off the night stand. He frowned at it, then looked at Stiles.

“Did you accidentally use my phone? Lydia’s going to think I’m drunk with what you typed, it doesn’t even make sense.”

_What do you mean it doesn’t make sense?! What the fuck did I type then?!_

Stiles was literally going to murder someone. Maybe he _was_  typing in fox. Maybe everything he was doing to make words were actually nothing. Like goobledygook. Maybe to his eyes, what he’d typed said real words, but to everyone else it was just keymashing.

Well how the fuck was he supposed to tell them he was Stiles?!

This was the worst.

The absolute worst.

He hated everything.

He sat grumpily on Derek’s lap, ears flat and eyes narrowed angrily while he watched him type. How was it he could understand the others if he couldn’t type like them?

**[Derek]**  
Sorry. Red accidentally opened the chat.  
**[Derek]**  
Hope he didn’t wake you.

**[Lydia]**  
It’s fine.  
**[Lydia]**  
Thought you might be drunk.

**[Derek]**  
Werewolf.

**[Lydia]**  
Aconite.

**[Derek]**  
Fair.

**[Lydia]**  
We’re going to find Stiles, Derek.  
**[Lydia]**  
We will.

**[Derek]**  
I know.  
**[Derek]**  
Sorry about Red. Go back to sleep.

**[Scott]**  
the constant dinging is annoying  
**[Scott]**  
unless you found stiles or someone is dying  
**[Scott]**  
everyone go back to sleep

**[Lydia]**  
Good night Derek.

**[Derek]**  
Night. 

Wow, Scott was a grumpy motherfucker when he was tired. At least that hadn’t changed.

Derek set the phone face-down on the nightstand and rearranged Stiles in his lap so he was facing him, petting him and sighing. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there running one hand from Stiles’ head all the way down his back.

After about ten minutes, Derek gently set Stiles down on the bed beside him and then threw the covers off himself, heading for the bathroom. He kept the door open, which Stiles had noticed him do the first time he’d ever gone in there since his arrival. He thought maybe Derek just needed to take a leak, but he heard the water cut on and realized Derek was taking a shower.

Stiles flattened his ears at that, because the last time Derek had taken a shower, he’d heard him crying and it had almost fucking _killed_  him. Derek couldn’t even fucking cry in front of his fox, he was _that_  wired to not show emotion. Sure, he showed more of himself to Stiles as a fox than he did anyone else, but crying seemed to be one thing he hid no matter what.

He really hoped Derek wasn’t in there to cry, or he was going to leave the room. Well, he probably couldn’t, what with his leg, but he’d try!

Stiles curled up in a ball, wincing at the pain in his wrapped leg, but he managed to get comfortable and lowered his head, tail coming up and around so he could bury his face in it.

He actually really liked his tail. He was going to miss it.

Stiles started to doze, trying to get some shut eye so he could think on his next course of action when his left ear twitched at the sound coming from the bathroom. Slowly, his eyes opened and he sat up, staring at the bathroom door.

Oh God, was Derek... was he...?

He heard another harsh exhale and realized he _was_. Oh fuck, this was _such_  an invasion of privacy! Derek had only done this once since he’d brought Stiles home, but a man had needs, and this was _so_  awkward which was why Stiles had left the room the last time.

Stiles moved carefully to the edge of the bed so he could jump off, but it was so high off the ground and he worried about hurting his leg. But he didn’t want to be here while Derek was beating off, that was just _wrong_!

_I can’t see him. I can’t see him, so I’ll just... I’ll just block him out. Tune him out. Listen to the water instead. No need to listen to him._

“Fuck, Stiles.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

Derek was beating off thinking about Stiles.

With Stiles currently on his bed.

Oh God, this was the worst! Derek was going to hate himself when he found out! And he _would_! He would eventually find out! Someone would eventually figure out Stiles was Red and then Derek would know he’d been around for all of this! For all of the anger and the pain. The tears and the jerking off. That Stiles would’ve seen his wall, his phone, heard him muttering in his sleep.

Derek would _know_  that Stiles knew he was in love with him. And he would shut down, push him away even more, turn into a _bigger_  hermit than he already was.

Shit.

_If that Witch wasn’t already dead, I’d fucking murder the bitch myself._

Stiles had _no_  idea how he was going to fix this.

* * *

_Captain’s log: It is now week eight of being a fox, and I am sick of chicken. It has been fifty-six days since my last burger. It has been fifty-six days since I’ve used a real toilet. It has been fifty-six days since I believed my friends had brains. I have been trapped in this furry body for too long. I fear I may be losing my mind. I fear the animal may take over. I fear I may soon begin to enjoy, dare I say it, the belly rub._

Stiles was lying flat on his stomach on the floor in front of the fireplace. It wasn’t lit or anything, and he had no reason to be lying there other than he didn’t know what else to do with his time. Derek was on the couch behind him searching through books, and Stiles was bored.

Still very human in mind and very fox in body, and so very bored.

His leg had healed up rather nicely, and Derek had given him a bath about two hours ago. He was still a little wet, and kind of grumpy, but he recognized that he needed the bath. He just still didn’t like the idea of someone else bathing him.

In Derek’s defence, he didn’t know Stiles was Stiles. Though he should’ve by now, because Stiles had been living with him for a month and a half, and hadn’t been subtle in his hints. The few times the pack had come around, he’d been trying with them, but they were all idiots.

Everyone was an idiot.

He took back what he’d said about Derek and Lydia being smart. They weren’t smart. They were idiots.

Everyone was a fucking idiot and he was tired of being a fox. And bored. And jonesing for a burger like nobody’s business. And cheese. And chocolate. God, Stiles wanted chocolate. Apparently foxes were allergic to chocolate the same way dogs were so Derek was very careful about keeping it well out of reach. Stiles was going to start peeing in Derek’s bed if he didn’t give him some fucking chocolate. He was sure he could digest it! Maybe. Possibly.

God, being a fox was the worst. How did animals _do_  this all day? He was so _bored_. If Derek didn’t always stick close, he probably would’ve died of boredom by now. It certainly explained why pets slept so fucking much, there was nothing else to _do_.

He just wanted to be human again. He wanted to talk to Derek. To just... to talk to him about what they could be. What he’d found out while he was a fox. To make sure Derek didn’t self-destruct himself, or sabotage himself, or just up and leave.

Stiles was so scared Derek was going to leave again.

A car was pulling up to the house and Stiles turned to glance at the window. Derek didn’t react other than to tilt his head. It sounded like Scott’s mother’s car.

Yes, Stiles was well-acquainted with the sounds of vehicles, now. And scents. He was turning into a bonafide Werewolf, only not, because he couldn’t turn human like the rest of them. And by rest of them, he meant Derek, since no one else could turn into a wolf.

A car door slammed and Stiles listened to Scott head up the porch steps and knock loudly on the door. Derek took a few seconds to move, as if debating whether or not he wanted to, but he eventually sighed and stood.

Stiles watched him, but Derek moved around the couch in his direction first, bending down to pick up his limp body and cradling him in his arms. Derek really didn’t like leaving Stiles out of sight, it was cute, and also a bit sad, and really depressing. It was actually more painful for Stiles, now.

The longer he was around all his friends, seeing how badly his disappearance was affecting them, the more he wanted to just run away. Being around Derek hurt. He kind of hated it.

Derek wandered to the door and sighed before pulling it open.

“What do you want, Scott?”

That was another thing that sucked.

The pack and Derek were at odds. Apparently someone had found a lead on Stiles and everyone had forgotten to tell Derek, so he was now royally pissed at them all. Nevermind the lead was nothing because Stiles had been _with Derek_ since the Witch’s death but, details.

“We need to talk.”

“So talk,” Derek said coldly.

“Look, I’m _sorry_  that we all always assume you know everything,” Scott insisted, voice rising slightly. “We’re all used to Stiles telling you things, we’re not cutting you out on purpose.”

“I don’t have time for your empty apologies Scott, I have to find Stiles.”

He started to close the door but Scott forced it back open. It ricocheted off Derek, hitting Stiles, who let out a loud startled yip. It hadn’t hurt, it had mostly startled him, but Derek reacted as if Scott had just taken a knife to him, grabbing the front of his shirt with one hand and wrenching him forward.

“Watch it!”

“I didn’t mean to hurt Red,” Scott insisted, pulling Derek’s hand off him and scowling angrily. “I just need you to fucking _listen_. Deaton’s friend is on his way. He’s gonna help us find Stiles.”

Stiles instantly perked up at this and even Derek lost some of the tenseness in his shoulders.

“You could’ve texted me,” he said in response.

“I didn’t think you’d read it. Look, the guy, before he got on the plane, he called Deaton. He’s a really private type, doesn’t like huge crowds or people being around. He agreed to help, but aside from Deaton, he’s only willing to talk to two other people. One has to be me, because I’m the Alpha,” Derek snorted at this, but Scott was kind enough to ignore it and continue, “and the other he said needs to have a strong connection to Stiles.”

“And his dad doesn’t fit that bill?” Derek asked coldly.

“Has to be Supernatural. I thought Lydia at first, but apparently the guy said it had to be you.”

Derek frowned. “How does he know about me?”

“He’s magic, Derek, I don’t know. He said something about threads and bonds and that it had to be you. The last Hale. He’s landing in a few hours, Deaton’s going to pick him up from the airport and we’re gonna wait for him at the clinic. I’ll swing by around six to get you.”

“I can drive myself,” Derek insisted a little rudely.

“Fine. Do you think you can manage to survive without Red for an hour? For once in your life, try and be an adult.”

Derek slammed the door in his face, scowling angrily.

Stiles was trying not to get excited, and he could tell Derek felt the same way. It was entirely possible this Warlock wouldn’t be able to help him. If Stiles got his hopes up, and everything crashed and burned around him, it would just hurt even more. It was safer not to get excited about it and just... hope for the best.

Derek sat down on the couch, letting out a slow breath, petting Stiles. He turned him around so he was sitting facing him, smoothing both hands along his fur and smiling a little.

“I don’t want to get excited,” he said quietly. “But it’s hard. Because this guy is good, and I need this to work. Red, this _has_  to work.” He bent down and kissed his head, then continued to pet him. “You’ll be okay for a few hours, right?”

_I’ll be okay, but will **you**?_

Derek leaned back, still petting Stiles, eyes on the ceiling. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if this guy doesn’t find Stiles, Red. I don’t know what I’ll do. We _have_  to find him. Deaton’s spell... it might... it might not even be accurate. He’s been checking every day, saying that Stiles is still alive, but his presence is always faint and flickering. What does that even mean? How can Stiles have survived all this time without the Witch? Unless he was–he was handed off to someone else. What if he’s not... what if he’s not the same anymore?”

Stiles nuzzled into Derek’s hand, the Werewolf looking down at him. He sighed and hugged him tightly to his chest, then turned to lie down on the couch on top of all the books and papers. He seemed not to know what to do with himself now that help was on the way, so he just lay there staring at the ceiling with Stiles on his chest, petting him gently. The sun was slowly beginning to set and eventually, Derek looked at the time and sat up, cradling Stiles against himself.

He set him down gently on the couch, kissed his head, then stood.

“I’ll be back. Try not to make a mess while I’m gone.”

_I’ll do my best to resist the urge, but the boredom is a real problem._

Derek seemed extremely anxious leaving him behind, and more than once he’d picked him up and headed for the door with him before returning him to the couch. Eventually, to save him the dilemma, Stiles just leapt off the couch and trotted upstairs so he was out of sight. It still took Derek an additional five minutes to leave, but he finally did.

Stiles went to the spare room and jumped up onto the bed, watching the Camaro drive off through the window. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he struggled not to get excited. He didn’t want everything to crash and burn around him, it was best to just... keep his cool.

If this worked, fantastic. Day fifty-six would be the _last_  day of his captain’s log and he could have his bed, and a toilet, and _cheese_. But if it didn’t work, well... aside from the boredom and missing his dad something fierce, it wasn’t like he had a hard life living with Derek. It hurt, and he hated seeing how upset he was, but at least he wasn’t alone. Derek had him, and he had Derek. If he had to spend the rest of his life with him as a fox, there were worse things.

Stiles stayed staring out the window for a long time, as if hoping it would be an instantaneous thing. But the guy had to arrive, get picked up, be driven to the clinic, introduced to everyone, the spell had to happen, etcetera. He figured it would take a while and he eventually just lay down on the spare bed and curled up into a ball, trying not to count the seconds.

As time passed, he began to deflate, and felt like he might’ve gotten his hopes up a little too much, because now he was severely disappointed.

_Looks like Derek and I aren’t going to be having that conversation._

Trying not to be too disappointed, Stiles closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. At least sleep beat boredom. It was something he’d discovered the past few weeks, and definitely explained why animals slept so much. It was because they were _bored_.

He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but he jerked awake when he heard the sound of tires crunching on gravel much faster than usual. Turning to look out the window, he could see the Camaro flying towards the house as if it were on fire.

His heart began to increase in speed at the sight of it. Did they know? Oh fuck, had they found out?!

_Yes! Yes, yes, yes! I’m right here!_

Stiles still didn’t move, because it was too much to hope for. He watched Scott and Derek explode from the Camaro, an unknown man exiting from the back much more slowly. The front door downstairs slammed open.

“Stiles?!”

_Yes! Fuck yes! **Yes**!_

Stiles leapt off the bed and bolted for the stairs, flying down them excitedly while Derek raced for the living room and Scott disappeared down the corridor towards the kitchen, also shouting his name.

“Stiles, where are you?! Stiles!” Derek came out of the living room and Stiles jumped around his legs, almost tripping him accidentally.

_Sorry, sorry! I’m right here, though! Check me out! Right here! Hello!_

“Red, move!”

Stiles froze instantly, watching Derek sidestep him and head quickly up the stairs while Scott screamed his name and disappeared into the basement.

_Okay, there’s no **way**  they’re that dumb, right? Like, for real? Are you dumb? Are you both dumb?_

Stiles planted his ass grumpily on the floor and sulked, waiting for them to stop being idiots. They obviously _knew_  he was in the fucking house, or they wouldn’t be tearing the place apart looking for him, were they really that fucking stupid?

He turned when a set of feet appeared beside him and glanced up at the guy who’d followed them in. Evidently this Warlock friend of Deaton’s. He looked much older than Deaton did, with greying black hair, a bushy mustache, and a lined face. He was wearing a rather impressive suit and looked very put together. Stiles would’ve thought banker long before Warlock.

The man stared down at him, cocking an eyebrow and Stiles rolled his eyes before letting out a huff.

_See? You see what I have to deal with? Bunch of morons._

The Warlock kept staring at him, then eventually bent down, tilting his head slightly while Scott and Derek kept shouting his name throughout the house, Derek coming back down the stairs.

“Hm,” the man said. He stood when Derek went to pass him, and grabbed his shoulder, looking at him and pointing down at Stiles.

“Is this your fox?”

“What?” Derek asked. Almost snarled, actually, because he obviously wanted to continue his rather fruitless search since he’d literally stepped over Stiles in his attempt to fucking _find_  him.

“This fox, right here. Is he yours?”

“Yes,” Derek forced out, head swivelling while he continued to search. “Yeah, that’s Red. Why? Who cares?! You said Stiles was here!”

Scott appeared from the basement, eyes red like he was starting to lose his composure. “I can’t find him, where is he?!”

“How long have you had the fox?” the Warlock asked.

“Why does it matter?” Derek demanded, pulling himself free angrily. “You said Stiles was here!”

“It matters,” the Warlock replied calmly, ignoring Derek’s second statement. “Answer the question, please.”

“I don’t—” Derek raked an agitated hand through his hair. “A while!”

“How long?”

“I don’t know!” Derek shouted, eyes flashing blue.

“You can’t recall when you got him?”

“No!”

“Who cares about Red?” Scott insisted. “You said Stiles was here, so where is he?!”

“I see,” the Warlock said, ignoring Scott and turning to look down at Stiles.

Stiles gave him another look of exasperation.

_This is my life on the regular, buddy. Count your blessings you only have to deal with their stupidity for a few more minutes._

At least the Warlock seemed to suspect he was Stiles.

“Did you get the fox before or after your friend went missing?” the Warlock asked.

Derek’s eyes went back to normal and his face screwed up, like he had a headache. “Wha—I don’t—before? Maybe? I don’t know!”

“Where did you get him?”

“I don’t—somewhere! In the woods! I just found him!”

“Come on, _please_ ,” Scott insisted. “Stiles might be hurt. He could be dying. It’s been so long, _please_! Where is he?”

The Warlock eyed them both for a second, then turned back to Stiles. “Hm.” He bent down again, crouched in front of him, and smiled. “Hello. You must be Stiles.”

_Halle-fucking-lujah!_

“What?!” Scott demanded, only _slightly_  louder than Derek.

The man reached out and lightly touched Stiles’ head. He stayed motionless while the Warlock pet him once, and smiled down at him before picking him up and pulling him into his arms. Stiles saw Derek make a weird aborted motion out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t attempt to take Stiles back from him.

“It’s a powerful spell. I’m not surprised you haven’t noticed this is him. You’ve been searching for him so desperately, and this spell works against the mind of those looking. The harder you look, the less you see. I’m only here to assist you, I don’t rightly care if your friend is found or not, which is why I can tell you with absolute certainty that this is him. He has very human eyes.” He poked at Stiles’ forehead with a smile and Stiles frowned. Or, he tried to, but he didn’t know how that translated onto his fox features. “Try not to be too hard on your friends, Stiles. It was their desperation to find you that rendered them so blind. Particularly that one.” He motioned Derek and smiled a little.

Derek himself looked like he’d been shot. He was probably going through every single thing he had been doing the past few weeks, more and more horrified as he recalled every detail.

“So... so you’re telling me... _that’s_  Stiles?”

“So it would seem.”

Derek looked like he was going to be sick. “Can he—does he understand us? Does he—if he was here, with me, does that mean...?” He looked almost scared to hear the answer.

“Oh yes, he is still quite human in there. Shall we get him back to Deaton’s?”

For a second, no one moved. Then Scott was in front of him, squishing his face. “Stiles! Thank God! We were so fucking worried! Thank God you’re okay! _Are_  you okay? I mean, I know you’re a fox right now, but like, you’re okay, right?”

_I’m fine, get off me!_

Stiles snapped his teeth at Scott’s closest hand to make him let go, but made sure not to bite him.

_Get me human again, this is the pits!_

“Shall we go? I’m sure he is rather eager to be human once more, and this spell is incredibly powerful. If we’re not careful, we may all forget before reaching the clinic.” The Warlock pulled his phone out and Stiles watched while he set himself reminders for every five minutes for the next hour.

The Fox is the Boy.

Nice. At least, hopefully this would work, considering Stiles’ texts didn’t seem to.

“Come. We should go.”

The Warlock turned and exited the house. Scott followed and Stiles leaned around the man’s frame to see what Derek was doing. For a few long seconds, he just stood there, unmoving. Stiles _knew_  he was going to freak out, he had to get human pronto and talk to him before Derek fucking packed up and left.

It seemed to take a herculean effort, but he finally stepped forward and followed them out of the house, locking the door. They got into the Camaro together, the Warlock in the back, setting Stiles down on the seat beside him. Stiles immediately moved to the partition and when Derek was buckled in, he crawled into his lap.

Derek’s hands hovered awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to do. He eventually decided to just pretend Stiles wasn’t there, putting both hands on the wheel instead of leaving one on his back like he normally did. That stung and Stiles just curled up into a ball in his lap and spent the whole ride feeling like this was going to end badly.

When he parked the car, Derek opened his door and motioned Stiles out. “Go. Get out.”

Stiles didn’t move, because he knew the second he jumped out of the car, and Scott and the Warlock exited, Derek was going to turn around and head home. If he had a head start, he might be all packed up and gone before Stiles was even human again.

Hell, he might not even pack. He might just turn the Camaro around and drive.

“You’ll need to come in with us,” the Warlock said, appearing beside his open door. “It’s important he have people he trusts near him for the change back.”

Derek looked at him, jaw working, but eventually he just nodded curtly and the Warlock nodded back. Stiles let himself get picked up by the older man and Derek angrily unbuckled himself and climbed out of the car.

“Your friend seems a little out of sorts,” the Warlock said quietly to Stiles. He hoped it was quiet enough that Derek didn’t hear. “I don’t actually need him, but I can sense your anxiety so I’ll keep him as close as I can for as long as I can.”

_Thanks, dude. Hopefully he didn’t hear that._

It didn’t seem as though he did, or he hadn’t been listening in, because Derek followed grumpily behind Scott and they all walked into the back of the clinic, heading for the usual examination room they used for all their Supernatural business. The Warlock had to turn a reminder off on his phone while they walked, having turned it off a few times in the car given how frequently he’d set it for.

When they pushed through the door, Stiles looked around at all the stuff the Warlock had evidently been using to locate him. His hoodie and jeans were there too, which was good because it meant he wouldn’t be naked walking out of the clinic.

“Marcus,” Deaton said, standing from his desk at the back of the room. “Did you find him? Did you find Stiles?”

“In a manner of speaking,” the Warlock, Marcus, said with a smile, putting Stiles down on the examination table.

“I don’t understand. Why did you bring—” Deaton cut himself off and closed his eyes, as if coming to a realization. “Of course. It explains everything. I had all these gaps in my memories related to the fox, I should have clued in sooner that it was a spell.”

“It is a powerful spell,” Marcus insisted, turning Stiles’ head this way and that while examining him. “I would imagine he himself attempted to communicate who he was, but with all of you so desperate to find him, his words would’ve turned into gibberish. Any attempts to inform you of who he was wouldn’t mean anything to you because of the kind of spell this was. Rather ingenious, actually. The Witch made sure the person with the strongest feelings for him would be the one to take him home. Double the pain, because Stiles would see how desperately Derek was searching for him, and Derek would be doing exactly that, not knowing Stiles was right there. This is a cruel spell, but an effective one.”

Derek was shifting his weight uncomfortably by the door, arms crossed and scowl on his face. “I’m pretty sure his father has stronger feelings than I do.”

“I would imagine he does, but he was not there when the fox was found, I would think.” Marcus turned to Derek. “Tell me, has the father seen him in this form?”

“Once,” Derek grunted.

“And was he surprisingly clingy? Did he look ready to run off with him?”

Derek said nothing to that.

_Actually, I think he might have tried to if Derek hadn’t shown up when he did._

Huh. That explained a lot, actually, including why his dad had picked him up.

Marcus seemed to feel like Derek’s silence proved his point and he turned back to Stiles.

“Now then.” He smiled. “I would imagine you’d like to be human again.”

_**Fuck**  yes._

“This is going to be... unpleasant. And painful. You will likely pass out.”

_Oh. Fun._

“Are you ready?”

_As I’ll ever be._

Stiles sat up straighter to show he was good to go, and Marcus’ left hand began to glow, similarly to the Witch’s back in her lair. He was getting the heebie jeebies just looking at it.

“I will try and be quick. You have an interesting aura, Stiles. I look forward to meeting you.”

He brought his hand down over Stiles’ eyes and his gorge rose. Pain exploded through every inch of his body and he just barely managed to let out a scream of agony before he passed out.

* * *

“—t supposed to take this long?”

“He just had all of his bones re-arranged, it’s not a walk in the park.”

“Seems fine when you do it.”

“My body was made to be able to do it, his was forced into it. And in case you didn’t notice, he was a third his normal size, just give him time.”

“Like you’re not freaking out as badly as I am with how long it’s taking!”

“Shut up,” Stiles whined, the words coming out scratchy, like he hadn’t used his voice in a long time.

Which... he hadn’t.

But he’d spoken. That was definitely his voice. He was speaking real human words!

His eyes snapped open and he jerked into a sitting position. His stomach instantly rolled and he twisted to throw his head over the side of the examination table he was lying on and promptly threw up. Scott let out a shout, stumbling backwards, some of the vomit hitting his shoes, but otherwise he didn’t complain.

“Stiles! Holy shit! Are you okay?!”

“He’ll be fine,” Marcus said from somewhere behind him while he continued to dry-heave. “His body is attempting to recognize itself and he is likely in a large amount of pain. Sitting up that abruptly probably overwhelmed his capacity to handle pain and caused him to vomit.”

A hand holding out a damp cloth appeared in his line of sight and he reached out with a shaky hand to grab it, Deaton bending down slightly so he could look at him, smiling.

“Hello Stiles. It’s good to have you back. In this form, at least.”

“You stick me with any more needles doc, I’ll bite you,” Stiles forced out, using the cloth to wipe at his mouth.

Deaton just laughed, setting a hand on his shoulder. “We have your clothes here if you’d like to change.”

“Yeah, not being naked in front of four dudes would be great.”

He heard a door open, and turned to see Derek leaving the room, heading down the corridor.

His heart sank.

“Derek, wait.” He tried to climb off the table, and almost fell off it into his puke on the floor. Thankfully, Deaton caught him before he rolled off, and both Marcus and Scott helped him get settled on it once more.

“Derek, wait!” he screamed towards the door, but he heard the double doors at the end slam open and exhaled sharply, pressing his lips together.

“Just give him a second,” Scott insisted quietly. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Stiles’ gaze shot to him instantly. That was when he remembered that Werewolves could smell emotions.

That was when he realized—

“You knew. You _knew_  he liked me!”

Scott winced. “Yeah. I knew. And I also knew that if he didn’t tell you, he had a reason for it.”

“Fuck that,” Stiles spat, annoyed, given he _knew_  the fucking reason and it was a bullshit reason.

He struggled to his feet at the end of the table, where there was no vomit, and had to hold the edge of it to stay standing. His legs felt rubbery and shaky, and when he glanced down at them, he saw a huge, ugly scar on his left one where the lynx had gotten him. The scar had obviously expanded along with his body, so that was great.

Deaton held out the clothes he’d been wearing when he’d gone missing and he took them, pulling them on. There were no boxers, so he just went commando, getting his jeans done up and pulling the shirt over his head. He wanted to chase after Derek, but he had to tell his dad he was okay. He probably didn’t even know he was back, because Scott had mentioned that Marcus dude didn’t want too many people seeing him so they likely hadn’t even told anyone else in the pack that he was in town trying to locate Stiles.

“I know you want to go after your friend, but we’re going to need to talk before you do,” Marcus informed him, pushing a chair closer while Scott muttered something about getting a mop. “There are going to be a few side effects for a little while, and I need you to be prepared for them.”

“Great,” Stiles muttered, but he obediently sat down. “Is there a spell you can cast to stop Derek from leaving town before he sees me next?”

Marcus smiled kindly. “He won’t leave.”

“You don’t know Derek.”

“Maybe not, but I can see this.” He reached out and touched... nothing. He was touching nothing. Drawing something in the air in front of Stiles with his finger.

“See what?” Stiles finally asked.

“Threads. Bonds. Connections. It’s how I knew he was one of the people I needed here for the locator spell. Because Deaton sent me a picture of your pack, and this,” he motioned the air again, presumably the bond, “is one of the strongest bonds I’ve ever seen. He won’t leave. And even if he does, you will find him, or he will eventually find his way back to you on his own.”

“I’d rather he didn’t, so can we just,” Stiles motioned for him to get a move on.

Marcus found that amusing and Stiles wondered if Deaton had learned all his obnoxious and mysterious air bullshit from this guy.

He got to work telling Stiles about all the side effects he’d be feeling for the next little while, including pain in all of his limbs, nausea, an inexplicable fear of heights, weird dreams, and strange cravings. That all sounded super fun.

If he suddenly got the urge to eat worms and rodents, he was going to resurrect the Witch just to murder her again.

Marcus stayed to chat with Deaton for a little bit before leaving, and Stiles and Scott went out to the front. Stiles had to sit down in the waiting room because Marcus was right and _everything_  hurt. But he remembered everything hurting when he was first turned into the fox, as well, so really, he should’ve expected it.

He borrowed Scott’s phone to call his dad at the station. Surprisingly, he wasn’t there, so Stiles called home and his dad picked up sounding a little... well, probably drunk. Very likely drunk.

He hung up on him because he didn’t want him to hear his voice and drive to the clinic drunk. His dad loved him enough that he’d be dumb enough to attempt it.

Stiles _really_  needed to talk to Derek, but he had to talk to his dad first. If he was drinking, that was bad, and he was kind of pissed at Scott for not keeping a closer eye on him. He tried not to blame him too much though, Scott’s hands had been a little full and his dad hopefully hadn’t been hitting the bottle too much.

Scott gave him a ride home, Stiles gritting his teeth and clenching his hands together because every bump on the road shot pain through his entire body, but he managed to survive it. He climbed out of the car and turned back to Scott, offering him a small smile.

“Thanks, Scotty. But uh, just so you know, we’re gonna need to have some words, you and me. About Derek.”

“I told you, I couldn’t just blurt out his—”

“Not that. About how you all treat him when I’m not around. We’ll talk later.”

Scott looked stricken, but Stiles just slammed the door and turned to head for the house. He tried to front door, but it was locked, so he rang the bell. It took his dad a while to stumble his way to the door, which hurt Stiles’ heart, but when he finally got it open, Stiles didn’t even get the chance to say anything. His dad grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him to his chest, sobbing and clinging to him so tightly it hurt. But it was the good kind of hurt, so Stiles just hugged him back tightly.

“I’m okay, dad. I’m okay. I promise.”

Stiles was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be seeing Derek any time soon, because his dad held him so tightly he was fairly certain the man was never going to let him go.

* * *

Stiles had had a heart attack when he’d gone to Derek’s and found it empty, because he was convinced the other had bailed on them. The only reason he knew he hadn’t was because the Camaro was still parked out front, and there was a trail of clothes leading from the kitchen doorway to the back door.

He’d waited for two days, but Derek didn’t come back. Or more likely, he’d probably come back, sensed Stiles was still there, and left again.

Derek was a stubborn dick like that.

A stubborn dick who probably needed a shower and real food, and since Stiles knew how that felt considering his stint as a fox, on day three, he just went home and instead resorted to calling him and leaving him voicemails. They always tended to be the same, about how everything was fine, they were good, and they just needed to talk.

Derek never called back. Stiles eventually filled up his voicemail inbox and couldn’t leave him any more, which meant he either wasn’t checking them, or he wasn’t deleting them so that Stiles couldn’t leave him any new ones.

Which was fine, because Stiles moved on to texting. He didn’t use the group chat, because he wasn’t an asshole, but he was starting to get angry. And also a bit worried. Because Derek usually showed signs of life, even when he wanted to be left alone, because he knew Stiles would worry.

And he _was_  worried. And a bit pissed.

Okay, a lot pissed.

On day seven of the silent treatment, Stiles waited until two in the morning before leaving his apartment. He parked the Jeep at the end of the lane and then tried his best to be as silent as possible while sneaking up to Derek’s house. He knew it would be impossible for him to really sneak up there, but if he could manage to get close enough _before_  Derek heard him, he’d be able to stop him before he ran out the back door and turned into a wolf.

He’d made it most of the way up the drive and was about to walk around the Camaro to get to the front steps when something leapt at him from the shadows and slammed him hard into the car, pinning him against it painfully.

Angry blue eyes were glaring at him in the darkness, fangs in his face and claws at his throat.

Then Derek seemed to realize who it was and he backed off instantly, taking many more steps than necessary away from him, eyes returning to normal and making it decidedly more difficult for Stiles to see him.

He kind of missed his night vision. Little bit. Tiny bit.

Actually, he really missed his tail.

At least he got to eat cheese now, though. And chocolate.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked after a tense silence, Stiles rubbing at his injured arm.

“Making sure your dumb ass isn’t dead since you’ve been ignoring me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Derek informed him, turning and striding towards the front of the house.

Stiles stumbled after him, tripping over God knew what in his haste to follow. “Really? Because for someone who doesn’t want to talk to me, you sure spent a lot of fucking time trying to _find_  me!”

“I was _worried_  about you, Stiles,” Derek snapped, climbing the porch steps in two bounds and then slamming his front door. “Go away.”

“Stop being such a fucking coward,” Stiles insisted, trying the door, but of course it was locked. “Why didn’t you tell me? Derek, you _knew_  how I felt, why didn’t you just _tell_  me?!”

“There was nothing to tell.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Stiles tugged at the handle, as if he could magically force the door open. “I lived with you for over a month, there was _plenty_  for you to tell. So, what? What’s the problem then, huh? Is it that I’m human? Is it that I’m a guy? Huh?”

Derek said nothing on the other side of the door and Stiles sighed, bracing his hands on either side of the frame and bowing his head.

“Derek. Derek, please open the door.”

Silence.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he insisted softly. “Not now, not ever. I know... Derek, I know you’re scared. I know that this kind of thing doesn’t always work out for you. I get it. You’ve lost a lot of people in your life, and you’re not willing to take that risk again. But you realize it’s too late, right? What difference does it make? You already love me, so whether you admit it to me or not, it doesn’t change anything. When I disappeared, loving me without my knowledge didn’t hurt any less. If you lost me, loving me without my knowledge wouldn’t devastate you any less. Derek, you’re _allowed_  to want things.” He clenched one hand into a fist and let out a slow breath. “You’re allowed to want me. I’ve wanted you for a while. I’ve made that pretty clear. And I want to try this. With you. I want us to just... I want us to try. To talk about it, and give it a chance.”

Derek said nothing.

He probably wasn’t even there anymore. He’d likely run out the back, turned into a wolf, and was halfway to the border by now.

Letting out a sigh, Stiles pulled away from the door. For now, Derek was still there, and that was the important thing.

“When you feel like talking, you know where to find me. I’ll leave you be for now, but when I text you to check if you’re still alive, at least be courteous enough to fucking text back.”

Turning, Stiles headed back down the porch steps and walked down the drive back towards the end of the lane where the Jeep was.

He kept waiting for Derek to chase after him. Kept waiting for him to catch up to him, slam him against the closest surface and kiss him. Some big, romantic gesture. But Stiles knew real life wasn’t like that. Rom-coms were like that, but real life wasn’t all perfect and sunshine. Real life was messy, and painful, and sucked most of the time.

Sometimes, people died. Sometimes they got hurt. Sometimes they turned into foxes for two months and found out all your deepest, darkest secrets.

It was sad that in his life, it was more likely for someone to turn into a fox for two months than to have a guy chasing him down the lane to make out with him. His life was stupid, why couldn’t he live in a rom-com?

The whole drive home was spent comparing his life to a movie, but in a bad way. Like, maybe he’d get into an accident and end up in the hospital and Derek would be there worried and distraught and he’d wake up with him holding his hand. Or maybe he’d go home and Derek would have beaten him there because he needed him to know he loved him and they’d undress each other while making out on their way to the bedroom. Or maybe he’d wake up and find Derek in bed with him, holding him tightly and whispering that he was sorry and that he was never letting him go ever again.

But of course, life wasn’t like that. He drove home alone and made it back to his apartment without any accidents. He climbed up the stairs and entered his apartment with no creepy Werewolves lurking in the corner. He showered and went to bed, and when he woke up, Derek was nowhere to be seen.

Not like a movie. He’d have appreciated if it could be, but there was a reason people had unrealistic expectations of life, and that was because movies set the bar and humans were far too lazy or selfish to reach that same bar.

If Stiles decided to leave today, just head for the airport, he wouldn’t have anyone chasing after him desperately, begging him not to board the plane. His father would be sad, but supportive. His friends would be jealous, but would wish him well. Derek would probably stay holed up in his house and pretend he’d never met Stiles.

Broody asshole.

Stiles sat down in front of the television, turning it on with cereal in one hand and the remote in the other. He was behind on his courses because of his absence, but considering his father had been the one to contact his school to inform them Stiles was missing, he’d been given a free pass on all his missed assignments, so they didn’t affect his grade, along with an extension to get them all done before finals. And he was going to start working on them, but not until he ate.

He stopped on the Disney channel, which was playing _The Fox and the Hound_. Ironic, he thought, but he watched it anyway.

Stiles was literally on bite number five of his cereal when his phone went off. He was still chewing while pulling it off the coffee table and checking his texts. He stopped chewing instantly.

**[Scott]**  
dead body found in the woods

“You gotta be kidding me,” Stiles said, mouth still full and some milk spilling from between his lips and down his shirt. “One week. Not even one week of me being human, and already this?”

Sighing, he texted back that he’d be right there and asked which part of the woods. When Scott confirmed it, Stiles quickly dressed and grabbed his keys, kissing his breakfast goodbye before heading out the door. He stopped quickly in the bakery to grab a sausage bun since he’d be miserable if he didn’t eat _something_  and jumped into the Jeep.

A part of him was hoping this was all an elaborate ruse and Scott was secretly trying to get Stiles and Derek in the same place so they could talk, but Scott wasn’t that smart and, really, he’d probably forgotten to text Derek.

He was proven correct when he arrived on the scene and found the rest of the Pack, but no Derek. He contemplated texting him, but doubted he’d show.

He texted him anyway.

His dad was already there with Parrish and Stiles nodded to the deputy when he approached, letting out a low whistle at the body. It was fairly badly decomposed, and he was wondering what they were going to be dealing with when his dad stood and let out a sigh.

“Good news.”

“Good news? Pops, I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s a dead body right there.”

“I did notice, thank you, Stiles.” His dad gave him a look. “Thankfully, it’s one of the Witch’s victims. The last body he weren’t able to find. All nine are accounted for now, which means we can put this one to rest _and_  it means there hasn’t been a new attack.”

“Thank God,” he heard Lydia say softly.

“It’s still early, could be something heading our way even now,” Stiles insisted.

His father cuffed him across the side of the head. “Don’t jinx us.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, eying the dead body. It was hard to tell much about it, aside from it smelled really bad. He was super desensitized to that kind of stuff now though, so he managed to look past the decomposition to try and determine who it was. He had to give up when they all heard tires screech just past the treeline and a door slammed.

Something crashed through the trees and his dad drew his gun, but it was just Derek. He flew through the trees like something was chasing him and skid to a halt the second he saw them all standing around, chest rising and falling and eyes searching everyone’s expressions.

Everyone but Stiles’, anyway.

“Jesus, son, trying to give me a heart attack?” the sheriff asked, holstering his gun.

“What is it?” Derek demanded. “What’s come?”

“Nothing, apparently,” Scott informed him. “False alarm. Just one of the Witch’s victims.”

“Safe for another day, hurray,” Stiles said sarcastically, raising one fist in cheer. “We done? I have assignments to catch up on.”

“Yeah, we’re done. Sorry,” Scott said, speaking to the group at large.

Stiles nodded and they all dispersed. Derek didn’t move, but Stiles just walked past him back to the road. He’d told him he would give him space, so that’s what he was doing. Giving him space. Spacey space. All of the space. Much space.

It sucked.

Stiles climbed back into the Jeep and shut the door, starting the car and heading back for his apartment. When he got back upstairs, he realized he’d left his cereal sitting on the coffee table so he tossed that out and rinsed out the bowl, leaving it in the sink for future Stiles to deal with later.

Rubbing the back of his neck and sighing, he headed back for the couch so he could grab his laptop and get to work on his assignments when someone knocked at his door. He detoured at the last second to go and answer it, pulling it open. He was somewhat surprised to find an extremely scowly Derek.

It was an angry scowl, like he wanted to rip Stiles’ throat out with his teeth.

Stiles was used to the look now, he’d been on the receiving end of it enough times.

Great. What now?

“Was that all a trick to get me to come out there?” he demanded before Stiles could even open his mouth.

Stiles gave him a look. “Yeah, Derek, it was. You caught me. I had nothing better to do with my time than to drive all the way out to the Preserve, plant a dead body, wait for someone to find it, call the Pack together, and use that as an excuse to text you so I could see you. Wow, you sure showed me with your detective skills.” He almost shut the door in his face, but Stiles had manners so he instead just rolled his eyes. “I almost didn’t text you because you’ve made it _pretty_  clear you don’t want me anywhere near you. The only reason I did is because no one else keeps you apprised and I didn’t want to be that guy. You’re still my friend, even if you’re an asshole, and I didn’t want you out of the loop in case it was something serious. Turns out it was nothing, sorry for wasting your time, mine was wasted too, and I’ve got homework, so...” he trailed off and offered a small wave with one hand, waiting for Derek to get the hint.

He just stood there scowling. Like a Scowly McScowlerson. Sir Scowl of the Scowling Table.

Saying scowl that many times in his head was turning it into a word that made no sense.

“It’s not gonna work,” Derek snapped.

“Oh God,” Stiles said, exasperated. “What isn’t going to work? Nothing I am doing right now is in an attempt to make something work. This is my attempt to get to my homework. There is no other version of working going on.”

“You’re trying to use reverse psychology to get me to talk to you.”

“Turns out I don’t have to, you’re talking to me just fine on your own.” Stiles motioned him. “Look Derek, you’re hurt, and embarrassed, and upset, and I _get_  it. I didn’t _ask_  to get turned into a fox. I didn’t ask to invade your home. I didn’t ask to learn all the things I did while I was there, but I can’t help that I did. I tried _so hard_ to tell you it was me. I wrote a message in flour on the floor, I wrote one in shaving cream, I wrote one in paint. I wrote my name on a piece of paper and gave it to you. I texted the group chat. I literally tried so hard to make you realize it was me and it just didn’t work. And the stupid thing is I _knew_  the _second_  I turned human again, the _second_  you found out I was Red, that you would do this. Shut down. Push me out. Go back to brooding in corners like you did when Scott and I first met you. And I’m tired, Derek. I’m so tired. I came back to Beacon Hills because you asked me to. I could’ve said no. I could’ve insisted I didn’t want to be here. But I didn’t say no. I came back. Because you asked me to. Because you _wanted_  me to. I came back for _you_ , and you’ve known that from the beginning, so you loving me or not loving me makes no difference to me because _I_ love _you_ , and you know I do, so really—I don’t even know what else to say anymore. You’ve known I loved you for a long time, and if you don’t want to act on that, that’s your prerogative. I’m not gonna force you to, but I have homework, so decide if you’re coming in or leaving so I can get to that.”

Derek stared at him for a long while before scowling further and turning on his heel to head back down the stairs. Stiles rolled his eyes at how dramatic he was, but also felt a little hurt, shutting the door and locking it before turning to deal with his homework situation.

Whatever. He’d pined after Derek for years and hadn’t ever expected anything to come of it. Not like he’d ever thought that would change.

* * *

Stiles woke up groggily well into the afternoon, having stayed up a majority of the night working on an assignment and was now completely off his schedule. He felt around for his phone until he finally found it, checking the time and seeing it was almost three in the afternoon.

He had a few texts from Scott, but nothing urgent, just asking if he wanted to hang out before changing his mind because something had come up at work. He had one from his dad saying he was working the night shift and Stiles should drop by at some point for a visit.

He also had one from Derek and he opened it with a frown, reading it over.

**[Derek]**  
Hey. Camaro’s going in for service again. Do you want to grab lunch?

“Oh, so we’re going to pretend nothing happened then?” Stiles muttered. “Fine, whatever, you big baby.”

**[Stiles]**  
sorry just woke up  
**[Stiles]**  
still down for lunch or did you eat?

Stiles rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. He was in the process of doing the latter when his phone buzzed and he checked it with his toothbrush still in his mouth.

**[Derek]**  
Haven’t eaten yet, just waiting for the Camaro.

**[Stiles]**  
i’ll come pick you up and we can head out

**[Derek]**  
Sounds good.

“Sounds good,” Stiles said in a falsetto, spitting foam out of his mouth. “I’m Derek and don’t want anyone to know I have feelings.” He rinsed his mouth out and cleaned off his toothbrush before putting it back.

He yanked on the first set of clothes he found, not caring what they were or if they even matched, and then headed out. He got a loaf of raisin bread, just because he could, and then went to meet Derek at the garage. He was hanging out outside like he usually did and he waved one hand when Stiles slowed to a stop, moving to the passenger side and climbing in.

“Hey,” he said without looking at Stiles, moving the raisin bread so he didn’t sit on it.

“Hi.”

Great. They were going to be awkward. That was awesome.

“Diner okay?”

“Sure.”

Stiles turned around and they headed for the diner in silence, parking in the small lot and then walking inside. They commandeered a booth, as usual, but had nothing supernaturally to talk about so Stiles figured it wouldn’t have mattered.

The waitress started them off with some water and flirted with Derek, as per usual. He was a bit ruder to her than he normally was, and she left looking a little dejected. Stiles kind of felt bad for her, but not enough to incur Derek’s wrath right now, so he chose to keep his comments to himself, though he _did_  make an effort to be extra nice to her when she came back.

She seemed to appreciate that and started chatting with him a bit more than she was Derek. Not in a flirty way, just in a ‘you’re nice and your friend’s a bit of a dick, so I’m gonna stick to conversing with you’ way.

When she left with their orders, they fell into an awkward silence, and Stiles _hated_  awkward silences. He hated silences in general, but he especially hated awkward ones.

“So does it hurt?” Stiles finally blurted out.

Derek had been looking somewhere else with a scowl on his face and his arms crossed. He turned to Stiles at the question. “What?”

“Turning into a wolf. I mean, I know I only have the one experience to go by, the turning into a fox and back to human, but like, does it hurt for you?”

Derek shifted his gaze away and shrugged one shoulder. “It did at first. Not a lot, but enough that my body insisted it definitely wasn’t going to do that again. But the more I did it, the more accustomed to it I became. It hurts maybe for a second now when I do it.”

“Huh. I wonder if it’d stop hurting me if I could change at will.” Stiles shrugged. “I miss my tail. Do you think about your tail when you’re a human?”

Derek gave him a weird look. “You miss your tail?”

“Hey man, my tail was cute, and fluffy, and _comfy_. I used it as a pillow, it was nice. I liked my tail. It was a good tail.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I don’t make a habit of using my tail as a pillow.”

“Well, you should, it’s comfy.”

They lapsed into another silence, but surprisingly, this one was broken by Derek.

“Sorry about the lynx. I didn’t really think about how small you were when we went for that run.”

Stiles shrugged. “It’s all good. Scar looks kind of badass now, but I have no idea how I’m supposed to explain it to anyone who sees it. ‘There was this one time I got turned into a fox and a lynx bit my leg’ isn’t really something I can share with the general populace.”

Derek let out a small laugh. “No, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Maybe I can say a shark did it.” Stiles grinned. “Do you think people would believe that?”

“Probably not.”

“Eh, I’ll try anyway.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Stiles just shrugged in response to that and asked Derek what he was working on.

Things kind of smoothed out after that. Derek was less tense and a little more normal, but it was obvious he was just trying to pretend nothing had happened. That Stiles hadn’t been in his home for over a month, and that he didn’t know how Derek felt about him.

It was disappointing, and it sucked, but at least they were doing the friendship thing. At least Derek wasn’t cutting him off entirely, so there was that. It was stupid, but if Derek was adamant he wanted this to stay strictly in the friend zone, then so be it.

They finished their lunch and Stiles drove them back to the garage. Derek nodded a thanks and said goodbye before exiting the Jeep. Stiles sighed dejectedly while watching him walk away, but then Derek stopped. He tried super hard not to perk up, but Stiles couldn’t help it, especially when Derek turned and jogged back to the Jeep. He pulled open the passenger side door, leaned forward and—

“Forgot the raisin bread,” he said, reaching down to grab the bag off the floor.

“Right,” Stiles said. “Gonna need that for your addiction fix.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

Derek nodded, waved once more, then shut the door. He walked away without stopping this time and Stiles just let his head fall on the steering wheel.

It was probably for the best, anyway. Derek was too good for him.

* * *

Stiles kept staying up way too late at night, mostly doing homework, but occasionally doing research. Nothing big had come to town lately, but there were enough little things that Stiles was needed for his impeccable research skills.

Really, he felt they were all lucky the bad creatures of the world had taken a break while he was a fox, or they all would’ve died. How they’d survived without him, he had no idea, but thankfully they had. Stiles would’ve been lonely if his friends all died due to their stupidity.

He was lying on the couch with his laptop on his chest, typing away at an assignment while his eyes slowly but surely began to slide shut. He kept forcing them back open, ignoring that it was well past four in the morning and he should just _go to bed_ , and continued working.

When his eyes slid shut again, he forced them open once more, continuing to type before finally, they closed and didn’t open again. He knew, in the back of his sleeping mind, that he was going to be sore as shit when he woke up given how his neck was positioned, but that was future Stiles’ problem. Present Stiles was more than happy to sleep, and really hoping he wasn’t still pressing on the keys of his laptop or he’d wake up with pages and pages of one letter.

Eventually, his body told him he’d been sleeping long enough and his brain steeled itself for the pain it was undoubtedly about to be in with his neck at such an awkward angle all night, but as consciousness slowly returned, he found he wasn’t in pain at all. He blinked open his eyes, feeling drool on his cheek, and realized he was on his stomach.

And in bed.

Frowning, he slowly rolled over and sat up, rubbing at his face with one hand before bringing the sleeve of the shirt he was wearing up to wipe at the drool on his face. He looked around sleepily for a few seconds, then climbed out of bed and wandered towards the living room.

His laptop was sitting on the coffee table, the screen black but the cable plugged in, and he turned to look down at who he knew would be sleeping on his couch.

Derek was scowling in his sleep, arms crossed and one leg hanging off the side. How he was comfortable sleeping like that, Stiles would never know. Hell, how he could _scowl_  in his sleep, Stiles would never know.

Maybe his face was just stuck like that. Maybe Derek’s true face was just a scowl and he had to make an effort _not_  to scowl, which was why he didn’t bother most the time. It would certainly explain a lot, if he was honest.

Sighing and rubbing the back of his head, he figured this was how things were going to be. Back to normal. Lunch every now and then. Derek dropping by whenever and sleeping on his couch. Going out and attempting to get laid.

Everything would be perfectly normal.

“Whatever,” Stiles muttered. It wasn’t like he was new to people rebuffing his feelings, it was just weird to realize the person doing it was actually also into him. That was just weird and confusing, but whatever.

He turned to leave the apartment, shoving his feet into sneakers and heading down to the bakery. He bought some raisin bread along with a few sausage rolls and a pizza bun, because he could eat cheese again and cheese was delicious.

Returning upstairs, he almost thought Derek might be gone, but he was just sitting on the couch watching television, obviously having woken up when he heard Stiles leave.

“Hey,” Stiles said, earning himself a grunt in response.

He went to the kitchen and made them both some breakfast. Eggs, bacon and toast.

Well, that was what he ate. He did make Derek some eggs and bacon, but toasted a few pieces of raisin bread instead of regular toast. When everything was ready, he picked up both plates and headed back for the living room, handing Derek’s over before falling down beside him, digging a corner of his toast into his yolk and taking a bite.

“We could’ve gone out for breakfast,” Derek reminded him, picking up a piece of bacon and eating the whole thing in one bite.

Stiles shrugged. “Didn’t feel like going out today. Downstairs doesn’t count as going out,” he said, before Derek could make that comment.

“Classes going okay?” he asked, still watching whatever was on the TV. Stiles hadn’t noticed, because he didn’t care. He was looking into his plate to ensure he didn’t miss any yolk.

“I guess. Lots of assignments to get done before finals, but I’ve got extensions on all of them. Still, I don’t want to push my luck too much. If I avoid them until finals are looming, I’ll just drown in school and with my luck it’ll coincide with something coming out of the woodworks.”

“True.”

They sat in silence while they ate, and Stiles kind of wondered what Derek was even doing there. He showed up every now and then, but usually when there was research to do.

Eventually, Derek picked up his last piece of bacon and said, “I was thinking of getting a pet.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, a little surprised. “Won’t that be hard? You know, with the whole Werewolf thing?”

In retrospect, Stiles really should’ve clued in earlier that something was wrong, because none of the Weres had noticed that Stiles didn’t immediately freak out around them. Animals didn’t like Werewolves, because they confused them. Their eyes saw humans, but their noses smelled something more dangerous. Something to be feared.

Every time Scott had walked into the kennel at the clinic, all the animals had gone nuts except for Stiles. That should’ve been his first hint something was going on with his friends, because they definitely would’ve noticed a fox not being uncomfortable around a Werewolf.

“Yeah,” Derek agreed, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ll figure it out. House is just really empty. I don’t like it.”

Stiles felt like he’d ruined Derek’s safe space somehow. Derek never usually minded being alone, same as Stiles. Yes, they enjoyed company, but it didn’t bother them too much when they had to spend some time on their own. Looked like having a fox around for a few months made Derek disagree.

“Well, I hope whatever you get is super chill. You should try a whippet. They are literally the chillest dogs, maybe they would be okay being around a Werewolf.”

“Maybe. Kind of want an animal that stays inside, though. Don’t want it to get hurt.”

Stiles noticed Derek’s eyes shift slightly to look down at his injured leg. It was covered, since he was wearing sweats, but he knew Derek still thought about that day in the woods a lot. He’d brought it up enough times since they’d started speaking again to make it clear it bothered him.

“Well, cats are the devil when it comes to Werewolves. So says Scott, anyway.” He hesitated. “You could always try for a fox. I don’t think they’re as chill as I was, but to be fair, I’m a human. But you could try.”

Derek said nothing and Stiles let it drop. No point in pushing right now, Derek was already showing more of his hand than he normally did.

When it became clear the conversation was over, Stiles picked up both their plates and put them in the sink. He grabbed his laptop once he was back on the couch and booted it back up. It had been in sleep mode, and he was relieved to see his assignment was still open and he hadn’t lost anything. He didn’t know when Derek had shown up, but the laptop battery had been under half full so he could’ve very easily lost his whole assignment.

Well, there was always the automatic backup, but he didn’t know when that kicked in. Either way, he was just glad Derek had shown up when he had.

He assumed Derek would leave once he started back on his homework, but he stuck around, turning off the TV when he noticed Stiles getting distracted by it and grabbing one of the books he had lying around, beginning to read.

They worked in silence for a long while, and when it was late enough that Stiles got hungry again, Derek insisted he get clothes on and they went out for some food. They normally went to pubs at this hour, since they were better for the food, but Derek didn’t seem interested in them going there and they ended up at their usual diner. Not that Stiles minded, it was just weird he didn’t want to go to a pub. Maybe he wasn’t feeling the pub food.

_Back to normal, I guess,_ Stiles decided.

Yay.

* * *

_Captain’s log: It is day thirty-two of being human again, and I need to fuck someone. Or someone to fuck me. I am deprived in the fucking department and am in need of a good, solid pounding._

Stiles chewed on his pen while peeling a label off his water bottle, watching TV and waiting for time to pass. He’d been feeling really fucking horny of late, and at this point, he’d settle for a good blowjob. Hell, a handjob even. He didn’t care, so long as he got some kind of release that wasn’t by his own hand.

It had been a little weird and uncomfortable, texting Derek to say he was going out, but he hadn’t actually invited him this time. He’d said he was going out just so that Derek would know, and was actually in the middle of texting Scott to ask if he wanted to be his wingman when Derek texted back that he’d come along.

Stiles said he didn’t have to, but Derek insisted nothing had changed and he wanted to go out for a while anyway. So, Stiles had agreed, and was determined to ensure any time someone hit on him that he turned them around so that _he_  was the one facing Derek. He didn’t think Derek would turn him down and then stop him from getting laid, but it was Derek, so God knew what went on in that brain of his. And as far as Stiles knew, Derek _had_  pretty much been doing that, except Stiles hadn’t known about the being in love with him thing.

It was kind of rude, when Stiles thought about it. Derek not letting him get laid. Uncool.

He also kept having weird ideas of going out to get laid, and being in the middle of something dirty in the bathroom when Derek would just storm in, eyes blazing and scare away whoever was with Stiles before thoroughly defiling him in the stall. He had a massively active imagination, all of it ridiculous and based off movies and porn. It was dumb.

But fuck if he didn’t so badly want one of those stupid scenarios to come true. He’d been a fox for two months, he deserved some kind of reward here. He was owed something! Someone _owed_  him something, dammit!

And he wanted Derek. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently.

Stiles could love him all he wanted, and Derek could love _him_  all he wanted, but it wasn’t going to happen. Because Derek was a dumb-dumb.

A dumb-dumb with issues, sure, but still. What if Stiles died tomorrow? Derek would spend the rest of his life regretting not taking that leap. He understood Derek’s point of view, he truly did, but what Stiles _didn’t_  understand was why he was willing to let this opportunity pass him by. They’d both already lost so much, they knew how precious life could be, so why wasn’t Derek willing to just risk this with him? How was it better to just sit back and want someone, but keep them at arm’s length because of the potential of losing them?

Stiles was _there_. He _saw_  how Derek reacted to his disappearance. And like he’d told him, whether or not Stiles knew how he felt, Derek’s emotions and his reactions to Stiles’ disappearance made no difference. He loved him, and whether he’d been dating Stiles or not at the time, he was still a fucking wreck when he disappeared.

So, really, _what_  was the difference?

Stile started when his phone went off and he checked it, getting to his feet.

**[Derek]**  
I’m downstairs.

**[Stiles]**  
brt

He hadn’t realized he’d been lost in thought so he quickly made sure he had his wallet and keys, then pulled his shoes on before heading out the door. He plastered a smile onto his face when he exited the building, jogging to the Camaro and sliding into the passenger seat.

Derek barely cast him a glance but he muttered, “You look good.”

“Thanks.”

He doubted Derek had even noticed what he was wearing, but it was what he usually said when they were heading out, so he supposed he was just trying to act normal. Which was dumb, but whatever. It was Derek’s choice, Stiles had made his peace with it, and now they were just friends.

Stiles started talking about his next assignment with Derek for something to pass the time with, asking for some advice on certain parts of what he was expected to do, though not really expecting much help since it wasn’t Derek’s domain. He was still in the middle of speaking when he frowned and turned in his seat.

“Derek, you missed the turn.”

“What?” Derek glanced at him, then at the road. “Oh.”

He turned left at the next light and then turned left again so he could turn right onto the correct street, Stiles picking back up where he left off in his spiel.

Five minutes later, Stiles said again, “Derek, you missed the turn.”

“Huh? Oh.” He did an illegal U-turn at the light and then turned onto the correct street once more.

Stiles would’ve thought he was distracting him, except Derek didn’t even seem to be listening to him, so he just shrugged and kept speaking, having moved on from his assignment to the creation of currency, for some reason. He tried to backtrace his steps on that conversation but gave up fairly quickly and just went with it.

He felt a little excited when the club came into view. And then watched it disappear behind him when Derek drove right past it.

“Uh, Derek, you missed the turn. Again.”

Derek said nothing, eyes on the road.

“Derek?”

He drove another two blocks, then turned into an empty lot, the storefronts dark. Stiles was wondering if maybe Derek was possessed and about to kill him, but when he glanced over at him, Derek was just staring out the windshield, still gripping the steering wheel.

“Derek?”

“I’m not stupid,” he said, almost cutting off Stiles’ inquiry. “I know that it makes no difference how I’m going to react if I see you hurt, or you go missing, or something happens to you. I know that it’s not going to change anything in my head, but it’s not _me_  I’m worried about. It’s _you_.” He turned to Stiles then. “Something is _wrong_  with me. Every time I get close to people, they get hurt. They go missing. They turn evil. They leave. I’m tired of losing people. I’m tired of caring about others, only to have them ripped away. You were just—you were _one_  thing I thought I could have. That I could keep. That would just _be_  there, just out of reach, but present. Always present. I just... I just wanted to be able to keep you.”

“Dude, you know that what happens to those around you has _nothing_  to do with you, right?” Stiles insisted. “Look at the world we live in, Derek. Paige was an _accident_. Kate and Jennifer were lunatics. Boyd and Erica were murder. Cora and Isaac were a choice. You didn’t do any of that. You just got dealt a bad hand, but maybe you should recognize that life is slowly trying to improve it for you. I mean, look at all the shit I’ve been through. I’m still here, aren’t I? You didn’t lose me. Or Scott. Or Lydia. We’re still _here_ , Derek. And I can’t promise you nothing will ever happen because it will. Knowing our lives, something always happens. But what I _can_  promise you is that anything that happens to me won’t be your fault. Anything that happens will be a direct result of my own decisions. So you can keep pushing me away, if that’s what you want to do, but you’re going to have to live with that choice if you make it. Because eventually, something will happen to me, and it won’t matter whether we’re together or not. The only thing that will matter at that point is whether or not you’ll regret pushing me away.”

Derek said nothing to that and when Stiles sighed and was about to ask him to just turn around and drive him home, Derek unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over. He grabbed Stiles’ face with one hand and crushed his lips to Stiles’, claws extending and pricking at the skin of Stiles’ cheek.

Then Derek floored the gas and the car shot forward, the two of them jerking apart and Stiles slamming hard into his seatbelt when Derek hit the brakes.

“Oh God!” he shouted, the car screeching to a halt. Thankfully the lot had been empty, and they hadn’t driven right into a pole or storefront. Stiles let out a small laugh and turned to punch at Derek. “Jesus, are you trying to kill me _now_?”

“Shut up,” Derek insisted, shifting into park and grabbing Stiles’ face again.

This kiss was better than the first one, if only because there wasn’t the risk of the car slamming into the side of a building. Derek’s claws were out, and his fangs had descended, but Stiles didn’t mind. He just unbuckled his own seatbelt and tried to push himself closer to Derek, sucking on his tongue and circling his own around it. He buried his hands in Derek’s hair, tugging him closer, and valiantly tried to climb into his lap.

It was proving more difficult space-wise as a human than it had been as a fox.

Derek pulled away with a small laugh, licking his lips with his eyes bright blue. Stiles kissed him lightly again. Sucking on his bottom lip for a few seconds before releasing it.

“Wanna get out of here?”

“Only if you promise to take me home with you.”

“I think I can manage that.” Derek kissed him again. “Wasn’t going to let anyone else take you home tonight, so I guess the best way to ensure that is to take you home myself.”

“I can live with that.” Stiles kissed him once more, and they reluctantly pulled apart so that Derek could drive them home. They both yanked their seatbelts back on and Derek moved to place his hand on Stiles’ thigh, shifting into drive with his other hand and cranking the wheel to turn them around in the lot.

Stiles put his hand on top of Derek’s, squeezing tightly, and smiled a little. Maybe being a fox had sucked for a little while, but at least he had this to show for it. He doubted Derek would be up for sex, considering, but Stiles figured he could live with that. They could take it slow for now, one step at a time. He’d just beat off in the shower before bed.

Wouldn’t be the first time he slept in Derek’s bed, and not even because of his stint as a fox! Stiles had totally slept in Derek’s bed before. Sure, he was passed out drunk, but that was hardly the point. It had still happened.

They were halfway to Derek’s house when he saw the other smiling. Stiles eyed him suspiciously.

“What’re you smiling at?” he demanded, reaching up to poke him in the cheek with his free hand.

“Nothing. Just thinking about how adorable you were as a fox.”

“I was _the_  most adorable of foxes,” Stiles informed him haughtily. “Everyone said I was very pretty.”

“Yeah.” Derek smirked. “A pretty little fox who used the litter box.”

“You tell anyone about that and I’ll kill you.”

“I kept it, you know.” Derek turned to him, still smirking. “In case you ever stayed the night. Didn’t want you to think I wasn’t conscious of your needs. Guess it’s a good thing I kept it, since you’re coming over.”

“I fucking hate you,” Stiles informed him.

“No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Let go of my hand, then.”

“No,” Stiles said stubbornly, smiling a little.

So maybe being a fox hadn’t been so bad after all. Anything that got Derek to smile like that was always going to be a good thing in Stiles’ book.

And he was looking forward to seeing him smile like that for a long, long time.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Star Wars (c) George Lucas  
> The Fox and the Hound (c) Disney 
> 
> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).


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